MISS 
CURTIS 


GKNNETT  -WELLS 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


L 


53g  tfje  Same 


ABOUT   PEOPLK. 

A  Volume    of    Essays. 

THE  TRANSITION  OF  AMERICAN  WOMEN, 
CASTE  IN  AMERICAN  SOCIETY, 
LOYALTY  AND  LIBERTY, 

PERSONAL  INFLUENCE, 

WHO  's  WHO. 

Earnest  in  purpose,  sparkling  in  manner.  —  Christian 
Register. 

An  amount  of  good  sense,  honest  thinking,  and  wide  ex 
perience  which  it  will  do  everybody  good  to  heed.  —  Beacon. 

Fresh,  breezy,  and  piquant.  —  Independent. 

Full  of  thought,  rich  in  suggestion,  and  abounding  in  the 
practical  ethics  of  life.  — Boston  Advertiser. 

Sold  by  booksellers.  Sent,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price 
(| i. 2 5),  by  the  publishers, 

TICKNOR  AND  COMPANY,  Boston. 


MISS     CURTIS 


MISS    CURTIS 


a 


BY 


KATE  GANNETT  WELLS 

ACTHOB  OF  "  ABOUT  PEOPLE,"    "  LESSONS  HI  ETHICS,"    "  ODTimiS   FOB, 
CONVEBSATION  AKB    STTTDT,"  ETC. 


BOSTON 
TICKNOR  AND  COMPANY 

211  Crnnont  Street 
1888 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY  KATE  GANNETT  WELLS. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Sm&trjsttg  tyrtsa: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


95 
315% 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     THE  FIRST  CALL 9 

II.     BROTHER  AND  SISTER 15 

III.  CHRISTMAS 23 

IV.  REVENGE 35 

V.     QUITS 42 

VI.     OLIVE 49 

VII.     AN  INTRUDER 58 

VIII.     THE  DANCING-CLASS 69 

IX.     EQUALITY 78 

X.     THE  CLUB 89 

XI.     EARNESTNESS 96 

XII.     MAKING  FIRES 110 

XIII.  SNOBBISHNESS 119 

XIV.  CONVENTIONALITY 130 

XV.     A  Box 140 

XVI.     PANSIES 149 

XVII.  FARMER  NUTTING  161 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.  Miss  Cmms's  CLIENTS 169 

XIX.  THE  BAPTISM 183 

XX.  THE  CANDY-PULL 196 

XXI.  HIRED  HELP 208 

XXII.  GOOD-BT 220 

XXIII.  AFTER-THOUGHTS       .     .     .     .     .     .  228 

XXIV.  LITTLE  MAMMA 239 

XXV.  HOBBIES 251 

XXVI.  PURPOSE  262 


MISS    CURTIS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   FIRST   CALL. 

Two  quaint  little  figures  were  walking 
np  Beacon  Street  with  that  old-fashioned 
air  which  belongs  to  immature  responsi 
bility,  when  there  is  something  to  be  done 
that  is  of  greater  importance  to  the  doer 
than  to  any  one  else. 

"  Do  you  suppose,  Olive,  that  we  've  got 
to  make  grateful  calls  when  you  are  a 
teacher  and  I'm  in  college?" 

"  I  rather  go  without  things,  Owen,  than 
have  to  take  some  things  and  have  to 
thank  people  for  other  things,"  was  the 
eager,  vexed  reply ;  "  but  don't  let  us  talk, 


10  MISS   CURTIS. 

I  'm  'fraid  I  shall  forget.  It  is  just  like 
learning  your  part  in  a  play.  First  it  is 
i  How  do  you  do ; '  and,  '  How  do  the  fam 
ily  do ; '  and,  How  do  I  do.  And  then  it 
is  weather ;  and  then  it  is  how  old  you  are, 
and  where  you  go  to  school ;  and  next  it  is 
general  news,  and  then  it  is  advice,  and  last 
it  is  good-by ; "  and  the  little  face  looked 
out  from  its  mass  of  short  brown  curls  as  if 
it  saw  in  every  passer-by  a  stage  prompter, 
who  hissed  at  her  the  opening  words  of 
each  sentence. 

"  I  wish  I  'd  read  the  newspaper,"  ob 
served  Owen,  reflectively.  "  I  can  only 
think  of  family  news  and  funerals.  Let 
us  hurry  or  you  '11  forget,  Olive.'* 

The  two  children  hastened  their  speed, 
and  went  up  the  broad,  curving,  stone  steps 
of  a  mansion.  Owen  laid  his  hand  on  the 
bell,  but  forbore  to  pull  it  till  he  was  sure 
by  the  motion  of  Olive's  muttering  lips 
that  she  knew  her  part.  They  were  ush 
ered  into  the  presence  of  a  fine  old  lady, 


THE  FIRST  CALL.  11 

who  seemed  to  be  evolved  from  the  fleecy 
cloud  which  she  was  knitting.  She  wel 
comed  the  visitors  with  a  benignity  that 
disturbed  the  order  of  Olive's  mental  ex 
ercises,  so  that  the  girl  could  not  recover 
her  composure  sufficiently  either  to  answer 
Mrs.  Preston's  question  or  to  ask  the  first 
in  her  own  planned  series  of  inquiries, 
but  burst  forth  into  a  torrent  of  words  that 
grew  in  rapidity  until  it  ended. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  thank  you,  the  family  is 
pretty  well,  and  I  am  pretty  well,  and  it 
is  a  real  pleasant  day,  and  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  be  grateful  for  it;  but  weather 
and  such  things  don't  seem  to  make  much 
difference  to  me,  now  I  've  got  to  grow  up ; 
and  I  am  eleven  years  old,  and  I  go  to  Miss 
Flint's  school,  and  I  don't  like  it,  because 
she  gives  us  flowers  and  says  they  are 
virtues  and  that  we  must  cultivate  them ; 
and  I  don't  like  being  a  garden  and  full  of 
weeds  myself ;  and  there  is  no  news,  and  I 
try  not  to  forget  the  advice  they  all  give 


12  MISS   CURTIS. 

me,  though  it  is  n't  true,  and  — "  She 
paused,  and  turning  to  her  brother  whis 
pered,  "That's  all,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  solemnly,  and  then  added 
aloud  to  the  lady  on  his  own  account, 
"  Papa  has  finished  his  sermon  and  mam 
ma  's  got  to  the  heel  of  her  stocking,  and 
we  're  going."  , 

The  lady  with  the  high  curls  enclosing 
her  forehead,  and  with  her  well-bred  man 
ner,  looked  at  them  with  an  amazement 
which  increased  at  each  word.  Suddenly 
realizing  it  all,  —  their  stern,  comical  sense 
of  duty,  their  queer  distress,  their  droll  awk 
wardness,  and  the  feat  of  memory  accom 
plished,  —  she  dropped  her  knitting,  drew 
Olive  down  by  her  on  the  sofa,  and  kissed 
her  shining  eyes  with  such  a  touch  of 
comprehension  that  the  child  felt  instantly 
freed  from  her  burden  of  civility,  and  as 
if  she  had  received  a  high  mark  for  a  com 
position.  Impulsively  she  threw  her  arms 
around  Mrs.  Preston,  saying,  — 


THE  FIRST  CALL.  13 

"Did  you  ever  make  calls  when  you 
were  growing  up  ?  Was  it  easier  in  the 
old  times  than  it  is  now  ?  " 

The  lady  looked  wistfully  at  the  trou 
bled  countenance  that  sought  hers,  with 
its  burden  of  self-imposed  duty  and  self- 
examination  stamped  on  every  feature ; 
then  slowly  caressing  the  clustering  curls, 
she  answered, — 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  took  life  so  con 
scientiously  as  you  do,  dear ;  but  life  does 
grow  easier  as  one  grows  older,  for  one 
understands  it  better." 

Olive  looked  puzzled ;  yet  she  played  with 
Mrs.  Preston's  rings  and  twirled  them  round 
on  her  own  fingers,  and  wondered  if  dia 
monds  and  sapphires  atoned  for  being  old. 

Owen  had  withdrawn  to  the  table  of 
carved  ivory  chessmen ;  each  pawn  was  two 
inches  high,  and  the  castles  were  true  for 
tresses  of  defence.  He  was  displeased. 
Mrs.  Preston  had  tried  to  take  his  hand,  so 
he  had  thrust  one  into  his  pocket  and  hud 


14  MISS   CURTIS. 

severely  clenched  his  cap  with  the  other. 
She,  in  return,  changed  her  tactics,  and  her 
manner  became  so  adroitly  appreciative  of 
his  sense  of  offended  family  honor,  that  his 
silent  wrath  against  his  effusive  sister  was 
appeased,  and  he  condescended  to  allow 
himself  to  be  entertained.  Inwardly  he 
vowed  that  he  would  have  nothing,  more  to 
do  with  girls ;  they  could  not  be  trusted, 
they  were  so  emotional. 

The  minutes  wore  away,  and  the  children 
bade  good-by  in  a  much  more  natural  man 
ner  than  that  in  which  they  had  given  their 
greeting. 

"  We  've  got  through  it  first-rate ;  "  ex 
claimed  Owen,  forgetful  of  his  previous 
wrath,  as  they  went  down  the  hill. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Olive,  "  only  I  forgot  to 
ask  her  first  how  she  did;  but  then,  you 
told  her  about  mamma's  stocking-heel,  so 
that  makes  up.  Did  you  see  her  rings, 
Owen  ? "  and  Olive  drew  a  long  sigh. 

But  all  this  happened  long  ago. 


CHAPTER    II. 

BROTHER   AND    SISTER. 

OLIVE  and  Owen  were  brother  and  sister. 
Their  father,  for  aught  they  knew,  had 
always  been  a  minister.  Their  mother  did 
not  seem  to  them  much  older  than  they 
two  were,  put  together ;  for  she  was  not  so 
afraid  that  she  might  not  do  what  was 
proper  as  was  Owen,  and  she  was  a  great 
deal  prettier  than  Olive. 

The  home  was  one  of  principles,  not  of 
rules.  This  was  a  great  disturbance  to 
Owen,  as  it  obliged  him  to  settle  matters 
himself,  when  he  much  preferred  to  have 
things  settled  for  him.  It  also  had  the 
disadvantage  of  making  him  feel  as  if  the 
fate  of  nations  depended  upon  his  own 
rectitude  much  more  than  was  at  all  prob- 


16  MISS   CURTIS. 

able.  Mrs.  Cadwallader's  method  of  edu 
cation  in  enabling  the  children  to  govern 
themselves,  rather  than  her  insistance  upon 
any  special  code  of  regulations,  kept  Olive 
in  a  state  of  constant  effervescence.  The 
child  explained  herself  by  saying  that  she 
never  knew  how  far  down  she  should  settle, 
and  that  when  she  got  to  the  finality  of  any 
thing  there  was  little  of  it ;  though  it  was 
just  like  the  sediment  in  any  other  process 
of  thinking,  —  right  for  right's  sake. 

A  lady  parishioner,  of  the  genus  remon 
strant,  once  asked  Mrs.  Cadwallader  if  she 
were  not  running  a  risk  in  making  her 
children  responsible  beings  too  soon. 

"No,"  replied  she;  "  I  want  them  to  feel 
the  sense  of  universal  relationships  before 
they  can  understand  what  those  words 
mean.  If  they  can  but  dimly  apprehend 
that  law,  it  will  prevent  them  from  be 
coming  conventional.  There  is  nothing  so 
deadening  for  children  as  a  perception  of 
conventionality." 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER.  17 

The  parishioner  shrugged  her  shoulders 
to  such  a  degree  that  her  chest  expanded, 
and  asked,  — 

"How  did  Philadelphia  compare  with 
Boston  when  your  husband  was  settled 
there  ?  Since  -the  Revolution  its  ladies  are 
said  to  have  grown  very  recherche." 

"Oh,"  answered  Mrs.  Cadwallader,  "one 
can  never  move  away  from  the  neighbor 
hood  of  conventionality  in  either  city,  but 
one  can  at  least  keep  its' spirit  out  of  one's 
own  home.  And  as  for  the  weight  of 
responsibility  resting  too  heavily  upon  chil 
dren,  the  gymnasium  and  athletics  keep  it 
from  pressing  upon  their  bodies ;  it  only 
floats  over  their  minds." 

"  But  in  Philadelphia,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Cadwallader,  each  lady  knows  her  own 
place ;  and  it  is  not  fashionable  —  I  mean, 
no  necessity  exists  there  for  reasoning." 

"  Intuitions  are  incomparably  shorter 
than  logical  processes,"  was  the  curt 
reply. 


18  MISS   CURTIS. 

Thus  slowly  and  apparently  unevenly, 
under  the  influences  of  free  inquiry  and  of 
a  categorical  imperative,  Olive  and  Owen 
grew  up,  loving  their  mother  with  an  ardor 
which  perhaps  would  have  lessened  if  they 
had  guessed  how  she  guided  them.  She 
trusted  much  to  the  arguing  faculty  em 
bedded  in  every  child,  as  a  counter-irritant 
against  weak  committal  of  silly  deeds  or 
sillier  thoughts,  and  she  allowed  her  boy 
and  girl  to  work  out  their  own  solution  of 
moral  problems. 

For  a  long  while  "couldn't"  and  "would 
n't"  were  mixed  up  in  the  children's 
minds.  Olive  and  Owen  had  debated  the 
subject,  until  each  was  on  the  other's 
side.  They  were  never  quite  sure  when 
"couldn't"  was  apology,  or  when  "would 
n't"  implied  obstinacy. 

"  You  know,"  Owen  stated,  "  I  could  n't 
do  the  things  I  would ;  I  could  n't  run  a 
quarter-mile  in  fifty-two  seconds,  I  could 
not  jump  twenty-two  feet,  even  if  I  would." 


BROTHER   AND  SISTER.  19 

"But  you  know/'  replied  Olive,  "that 
you  would  n't  be  either  a  sneak  or  a  '  snipe,' 
if  you  could  be.  I  tell  you,  Owen,  you 
just  notice  how  it  is  ;  with  girls  it  is  always 
could  n't,  because  we  have  not  got  so  much 
daring  in  us ;  and  with  boys  it  is  would  n't, 
because  they  are  set  in  their  ways." 

Olive  was  such  an  honest-minded  child 
that  she  never  learned  the  art  of  not  telling 
all  she  saw,  heard,  and  thought.  With  her, 
the  truth  seemed  to  mean  its  delivery  at 
the  wrong  time,  so  that  she  was  constantly 
readjusting  herself  to  circumstances  which 
might  never  have  occurred  if  she  had  not 
said  too  much.  She  secretly  nourished  a 
romantic  ideal  of  her  first  and  only  love, 
the  hero  of  her  future  life,  wrhose  proto 
type  should  guide  her  earliest  years.  Noth 
ing  made  her  more  wretched  than. a  joke 
which  in  any  way  reflected  upon  her  single 
ness  of  heart.  All  boys,  except  the  vision 
ary  one  of  the  future,  were  to  her  as  so 
many  girls.  To  speak  to  her  of  any  special 


20  MISS   CURTIS. 

one  as  her  little  beau  would  excite  her 
utmost  indignation. 

There  was  a  tale  in  the  family,  that 
when  not  more  than  eight  years  old  she 
had  rung  a  neighbor's  door-bell  and  asked 
if  Mrs.  Manahan  were  at  home. 

"No,  miss,"  replied  the  maid,  who  had 
answered  the  summons.  "  Will  you  leave 
your  message  ?  " 

"Yes,"  returned  Olive,  drawing  up  her 
little  figure  with  a  determined  air.  "  Yes  ; 
tell  Mrs.  Manahan  that  I  am  Olive  Cad- 
wallader,  and  that  I  came  over  here  to  tell 
her  there  was  no  truth  in  that  story  about 
me  and  John,  —  the  girls  don't  know  any 
thing  about  it.  You  tell  her  I  'm  not  in 
love  with  John  anyway;  he  is  too  little 
for  me,  and  he  is  n't  very  good-looking 
either." 

"  Oh,"  observed  the  maid,  half  amused, 
and  half  zealous  for  the  reputation  of  the 
family  she  served,  "you  are  not  so  good- 
looking  yourself,  with  your  freckles  and 


BROTHER   AND  SISTER.  21 

your  coarse  hair,  that  you  need  be  so 
particular." 

"  I  know  I  'm  not,"  returned  Olive,  calm 
ly;  "but  mamma  says  I  shall  be  smart 
some  day." 

Olive  adored  her  brother,  in  spite  of  his 
many  futile  efforts  on  behalf  of  her  im 
provement  in  conventional  ways.  She  con 
sidered  the  most  heroic  act  of  her  life  to 
have  been  a  compulsory  visit  away  from 
home  without  him,  when  she  regularly 
cried  herself  to  sleep  for  want  of  Owen. 

"  Owen  must  go  to  school,"  reasoned  her 
mother,  "  so  he  could  not  come  with  us." 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  she  said,  between  her 
sobs,  "  I  don't  care  whether  or  not  he  is  a 
scholar,  if  he  will  only  love  me.  I  want 
Owen,  my  brother ;  I  can't  help  loving  my 
fellow-creature,  my  Owen." 

Her  submission  to  him  had  once  been 
carried  so  far  that  it  threatened  to  give  her 
a  chronic  cold.  When  Owen  found  that  it 
was  incumbent  on  him  to  take  charge  of 


22  MISS   CURTIS. 

his  sister  out  of  doors,  it  became  necessary 
for  him  to  invent  plays  in  which  she  could 
not  interfere.  One  of  the  most  successful 
was  that  of  station-master,  to  which  pre 
eminence  she  was  daily  elected.  While  he, 
with  other  boys,  could  be  seen  careering 
up  and  down  the  sidewalk  on  their  veloci 
pedes,  as  if  they  were  driving  engines, 
Olive  could  be  found  ensconced  in  the  cor 
ner  of  a  doorstep,  her  teeth  chattering,  her 
nose,  hands,  and  feet  cold,  in  consequence 
of  her  appointment,  which  compelled  her 
to  remain  quiet  in  one  place. 

Notwithstanding  her  affection  for  Owen, 
there  was  one  point  on  which  she  owed 
him  a  grudge.  He  was  much  larger  than 
she,  and  as  Mrs.  Cadwallader  was  obliged 
to  be  economical,  she  sometimes  insisted 
upon  Olive's  wearing  the  merino  shirts 
which  Owen  had  outgrown.  Olive  rebelled, 
alleging  that  to  wear  any  part  of  a  boy's 
dress  was  one  of  the  most  painful,  personal 
experiences  a  little  girl  could  undergo. 


CHAPTER    III. 

CHRISTMAS. 

MRS.  CAD  WALL  ADER  had  great  faith  in 
the  many  excellences  derived  from  making 
calls.  She  did  not  believe  in  the  sudden 
coming  out  of  girls,  now  so  much  in  fash 
ion.  She  preferred  that  they  should  im 
perceptibly  slide  into  society,  and  that 
there  should  never  be  any  special  age  in 
which  children  should  feel  themselves  ex 
empt  from  the  duties  either  of  entertaining 
or  being  entertained.  As  Mr.  Cadwallader 
was  a  minister,  the  children  had  had  many 
experiences  in  this  direction,  when  Owen 
was  called  gentlemanly  and  Olive  frank ; 
both  adjectives  conveying  a  sense  of  disap 
probation  to  their  youthful  minds,  as  was 
indeed  meant,  especially  when  Olive  either 


24  MISS   CURTIS. 

violently  avoided  or  stolidly  endured  the 
effusive  greeting  of  personality  conveyed 
in  a  kiss. 

Christmas  had  become  a  season  of  agony, 
as  each  gift  entailed  a  call,  or  worse  still 
a  grateful  note,  which  had  to  be  correctly 
spelled  and  neatly  written.  Many  a  time 
had  Owen  declared  that  he  would  rather 
be  an  illiterate  hermit  than  have  to  write 
his  "Thank  you."  There  was  a  sad 
monotony  and  a  just  appreciation  of  the 
giver's  excellence  in  all  the  letters,  which 
would  have  made  any  one  of  them  a  type 
of  the  others. 

There  had  been  one  Christmas  in  his 
life  which  for  prearranged  malice  had  ex 
ceeded  all  the  discomforts  of  other  jubilees. 
Owen  and  Olive  were  invited  to  a  Christ 
mas  party  with  six  other  children.  The 
invitations  said  that  each  one  was  to  choose 
his  own  present.  What  could  be  more 
delightful?  Imagination  had  run  riot  from 
bicycles,  guns,  and  skates  to  dolls  and 


CHRISTMAS.  25 

jewelry.  At  the  appointed  hour  the  eight 
children  appeared  at  Miss  Curtis' s.  She 
received  them  in  an  old-fashioned  square 
room,  full  of  heavy  mahogany  furniture. 
Tall  candlesticks  of  blue  wedgwood  with 
crystal  pendants  were  ranged  on  the  high 
mantel-piece.  After  questioning  them  in 
the  inane,  stereotyped  manner  in  which 
people  ask  about  home  and  school,  she 
observed,  — 

"  Children,  I  like  to  study  character,  so 
don't  be  frightened.  Do  just  as  you  feel; 
it  is  a  big  house.  I'm  going  to  take  you 
in  to  the  presents  by  couples,  and  when  you 
have  chosen,  you  can  stay  by  yourselves  in 
twos  until  supper  is  ready,  and  then  you 
can  go  home;'"  she  gave  a  little  groan, 
adding,  "  I  shall  know  your  characters." 

"What  is  that?"  whispered  the  young 
est  of  the  group. 

"  It 's  yourself,"  answered  Miss  Curtis, 
solemnly,  for  she  had  overheard  the  re 
mark.  After  that  no  one  spoke. 


26  3/755  CURTIS. 

Bob  and  Gracie  went  first.  What  hap 
pened  to  them  was  never  known,  only  that 
Miss  Curtis  was  gone  a  long  time,  and  had 
a  strange  expression  on  her  face  when  she 
again  entered  the  parlor.  At  last  came 
Owen's  turn,  with  Olive.  They  were 
ushered  into  a  room  in  the  centre  of 
which  stood  a  large  table.  On  it  there 
was  a  pile  of  beautiful  dolls  of  all  sizes 
and  dressed  in  every  fashion.  Next  to 
them  was  a  heap  of  big  shells,  then  a 
heap  of  little  shells  and  chocolate  creams. 
Drums  and  trumpets  lay  close  to  spelling 
and  arithmetic  books.  Empty  purses  and 
pyramids  of  coppers  were  contrasted ;  a 
coral  pin  and  a  bit  of  sponge  coral ;  a 
jointed  wooden  snake  and  a  snake  with 
a  toad  in  its  mouth,  preserved  in  a  bottle 
of  alcohol,  were  in  juxtaposition. 

Olive  and  Owen  walked  round  and  round 
the  table.  Miss  Curtis,  perched  on  a  whirl- 
a-gig  high-chair,  watched  every  movement 
and  expression.  The  children  were  awed. 


CHRISTMAS.  27 

Choice  was  more  difficult  than  in  the  fa 
mous  selection  of  Portia's  caskets.  Five, 
ten  minutes  passed. 

"  Time 's  up.  Choose,  but  don't  touch. 
Nothing  is  certain  in  life,"  announced  Miss 
Curtis. 

Owen  had  begun  to  suspect  foul  play ; 
he  was  determined  to  know  his  fate  at 
once,  so  he  faced  Miss  Curtis  squarely,  put 
one  foot  in  front  of  the  other,  and  in  a 
bravado  tone  demanded, — 

"Can  I  have  what  I  want,  or  what  I 
don't  want?" 

"  That  depends,"  was  the  answer. 

"  "Well,  how  many  things  can  I  have  ?  " 
asked  Owen,  rather  impatiently  this  time. 

"  That  depends  still  more." 

He  looked  at  her  as  a  youthful  offender 
eyes  the  judge ;  his  sense  of  justice  was 
aroused.  It  was  not  April  Fool's  day ;  the 
written  invitation  had  said  they  were  to 
choose  their  own  presents. 

"  But   you  have   not  told   me  yet  how 


28  MISS  CURTIS. 

many  I  can  choose,"  said  he,  after  re 
flection. 

"  That  too  depends :  manner  is  more 
than  words." 

"  Umph !  "  muttered  Owen,  indignantly. 

"  Eh!"  remarked  Miss  Curtis,  maliciously. 

"  Umph  !  "  muttered  Owen  again;  "  if  I 
am  in  for  it,  I  may  as  well  be  blamed  for  a 
dozen  as  for  one." 

"  Eh ! "  observed  Miss  Curtis  again,  with 
rising  inflection. 

Owen's  courage  rose.  "  Very  well,"  be 
gan  he  ;  "I  '11  take  a  drum  and  trumpet,  as 
they  go  together,  the  coppers,  the  snake 
that  has  got  the  toad  in  its  mouth,  and — " 
he  looked  pityingly  at  the  half-swallowed 
captive,  and  dropped  into  a  chair,  fright 
ened  at  his  own  temerity. 

Miss  Curtis's  countenance  had  become 
impenetrable. 

"  It 's  your  turn,  child,"  she  said  to  Olive. 

The  girl  had  been  wondering  if  it  would 
be  any  use  to  pray  upon  the  matter ;  she 


CHRISTMAS.  29 

did  not  want  to  bungle,  as  she  usually  did, 
but  she  could  not  think  of  anything  pleas 
ant  to  say.  The  old  formula  of  the  grate 
ful  letters  she  had  written  came  to  her 
mind,  and  she  began  and  rattled  it  off  in 
the  same  way  in  which  she  had  rehearsed 
her  part  when  she  and  her  brother  called 
on  Mrs.  Preston. 

"  I  think  you  are  very  kind  to  remember 
me,  and  T  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  and 
I  hope  you  had  a  merry  Christmas,  and 
will  keep  well  all  winter,  and  your  presents 
are  very  "  —  she  hesitated  —  "  remarkable," 
she  continued,  "  and  just  what  I  want." 

She  stopped  short,  and  in  spite  of  all  her 
self-control  began  to  tremble. 

Whether  it  were  the  words,  or  the  sight 
of  the  terror  she  had  inspired,  Miss  Curtis' s 
expression  rapidly  softened,  though  her 
tone  was  as  severe  as  ever  as  she  asked,  — 

"  Well,  which  is  it  ?  " 

"  This,"  said  Olive,  laying  her  hand  on 
a  common  conch-shell.  "  Thank  you  very 


30  MISS  CURTIS. 

much,"  but  not  knowing  what  she  was  say 
ing  .or  touching. 

"Take  it!"  shouted  Miss  Curtis";  and  then 
in  a  lower  tone,  "  I  would  n't  have  believed 
it,  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it,  and  that 
coral  pin  right  there  !  " 

She  rose  and  showed  the  children  into 
another  room,  —  Owen  with  nothing  in  his 
hand  and  Olive  with  her  shell.  The  door 
was  slammed  to.  Owen,  grown  preternatu- 
rally  old  within  the  last  fifteen  minutes, 
peaked  through  the  key-hole  and  listened. 
When  he  had  convinced  himself  that  no 
one  was  outside,  he  strode  up  and  down  the 
room,  exclaiming:  "It  isn't  fair!  She's 
the  meanest  old  cat  I  ever  saw  !  She 's  a 
shirk,  —  a  regular  fraud !  I  '11  be  even 
with  her,  I  will !  I  '11  send  her  jelly-cake 
stuffed  with  red  pepper !  I  '11  put  castor-oil 
into  it !  I  '11  burn  up  those  hateful  things, 
and  she  sha'  n't  have  any  insurance !  " 

"  Stop,  mercy's  sake,  stop  !  "  exclaimed 
Olive.  "  Wait  till  we  get  home.  Oh,  dear ! 


CHRISTMAS.  31 

I  shall  cry.  What  do  I  want  of  this  pesky 
old  shell  ?  I  had  n't  the  courage  to  take 
anything,  but  I  did  n't  exactly  mean  to 
take  this.  I  should  have  died  right  down 
like  Ananias  and  Sapphira  if  I  had  taken 
the  pin ;  it  was  just  lovely  !  " 

The  brother  and  sister  threw  themselves 
on  a  sofa,  half  laughing,  half  crying,  and 
talking.     In   a   little  while  some  one  en 
tered   wearing   a   mask.      Olive    declared 
afterward  that  it  was  a  man ;   but   Owen 
always  asserted  that  it  was  a  woman.    The 
form  opened  the  door,  saying,  — 
"  She  wants  you  to  come  to  supper." 
In  the  dining-room  they  found  the  other 

fe 

children,  who  seemed  to  be  joyless,  yet  still 
anticipating.  They  had  nothing  in  their 
hands.  The  shell  was  in  Olive's  pocket. 
It  was  a  good  supper;  four  helmeted  sol 
diers  of  pink,  green,  brown,  and  white  ice 
cream  guarded  the  corners  of  the  table ; 
oysters,  candies,  jellies,  lemonade,  snappers, 
—  but  no  one  dared  to  snap.  In  the  cen- 


32  MISS  CURTIS. 

tre  of  the  table  lay  lengthwise  a  baby.  Its 
skin  looked  warm  and  soft.  How  could  it 
be  so  quiet  ?  It  was  neither  a  white  baby 
nor  a  negro  baby;  could  it  be  an  Indian 
pappoose  ?  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  The 
oysters  were  eaten ;  it  was  time  for  the 
ice-cream.  How  queer  not  to  have  cake 
with  it ! 

"Children,"  began  Miss  Curtis,  "peo 
ple  nowadays  are  getting  too  particular 
about  their  food ;  cooking-schools  spoil 
them,  and  make  them  expensive,  so  they 
use  olive  oil  when  lard  is  good  enough  for 
frying ;  pork  is  all  my  mother  ever  had,  — 
sweet  pork  from  her  own  corn-fed  pig ;  so 
I  've  got  a  baby  for  you  to  eat.  Give  me 
the  knife,  Michael !  " 

She  took  it  from  the  waiter  and  bran 
dishing  it  aloft,  asked,  "  Will  you  have  a 
leg  or  an  arm  ?  " 

No  one  spoke.  Some  were  appalled, 
others  were  puzzled,  two  were  inclined  to 
take  it  as  a  huge  joke.  Owen  was  deter- 


CHRISTMAS.  33 

mined  not  to  bear  any  more  trifling ;  so 
he  answered,  — 

"  A  piece  of  the  liver,  ma'am." 

Plunge  went  the  knife  into  the  baby, 
out  came  the  red  spurting  stream ;  a  cry  of 
horror  went  up  from  the  children. 

"  It 's  cranberry ;  it 's  stuffed  with  cran 
berry  sauce ! "  shouted  Owen,  who  had 
pushed  up  close  to  the  table  and  put  his 
finger  into  the  gushing  jet,  and  then  had 
thrust  his  finger  into  his  mouth  and 
smacked  his  lips. 

Miss  Curtis  fairly  glowered  at  him.  The 
company,  once  convinced  that  it  was  a 
hideous  joke,  crowded  about  the  table  and 
indulged  in  feeble  fun. 

"  Let 's  eat  her  up !  "  "  My  !  ain't  she  fat, 
though?"  "She's  real  tender!"  "Let's 
play  we  are  cannibals !  "  "  See  who  can 
eat  the  most !  " 

They  did  eat,  so  well  and  so  fast  that 
legs,  arms,  head,  —  sponge-cake  outside 
and  cranberry  sauce  inside,  —  soon  disap- 

3 


34  MISS  CURTIS. 

peared;  and  they  all  went  home  vowing 
that  they  would  never  eat  any  more  babies, 
and  that  next  time  they  would  go  some 
where  else  to  get  their  presents.  Only 
Owen  remarked  to  his  father,  — 

"I  shouldn't  think  your  sermons  could 
have  done  as  much  good  as  might  be  ex 
pected,  papa ;  but  perhaps  Miss  Curtis 
always  went  to  sleep  when  you  preached 
about  Christmas." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

REVENGE. 

WHEX  Olive  had  recovered  from  the  dis 
appointment  of  Miss  Curtis's  Christmas,  she 
recognized  in  it  the  designs  of  Providence 
as  hints  to  her  concerning  the  study  of 
character,  which  she  in  turn  intended  to 
apply  to  that  lady.  After  due  reflection, 
she  decided  it  was  proper  to  make  a  party 
call  upon  that  curious  woman ;  but  she 
could  induce  Owen  to  accompany  her  only 
as  far  as  the  door,  where  he  said  he  would 
wait  to  see  if  she  came  out  alive ;  though  he 
gave  her  his  card  to  leave,  in  true  manly 
fashion. 

"Well,  what  did  you  find,"  was  his 
question  as  she  appeared,  —  "  fish,  flesh,  or 
fowl?" 


36  MISS  CURTIS. 

"Neither,"  answered  Olive.  "It's  wo 
man  ;  she 's  to  be  pitied." 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  care  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  'm  going  to  see  what  I  can  do  about  it. 
Something 's  got  to  be  done.  She 's  going 
to  have  another  party, — something  like 
the  other,  only  no  baby, — to  find  out  more 
people's  characters,  and  I  'm  thinking  how 
we  can  stop  her  without  killing  her  wholly. 
It 's  our  duty,  Owen." 

"  What  did  she  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  Say !  Why,  what  do  you  think  she  's 
going  to  do  ?  She  's  actually  going  to  in 
vite  some  poor  children,  and  put  money 
and  toys  about  and  pretend  not  to  watch, 
and  then  see  if  they  won't  steal !  She  says 
people  are  always  wicked,  and  you  've  got 
to  find  'em  out  beforehand ;  after  that 
you  can  learn  all  about  'em  from  the  news 
papers,  —  how  they  go  on  and  how  they 
don't  go  on." 

"  Leave  her  to  me,"  said  Owen ;  "  I  '11  fix 
her." 


REVENGE.  37 

Olive  looked  at  her  brother  and  he 
looked  at  her,  without  winking  or  smiling. 
Both  seemed  satisfied,  and  began  to  talk 
of  something  else.  Just  as  they  went  into 
the  house  he  remarked, — 

"  Say,  Olive,  when  is  she  going  to  have 
that  circus?" 

"  Thursday,"  was  the  answer.  Again 
they  looked  at  each  other  and  again  both 
seemed  satisfied. 

Thursday  came.  Owen  seemed  pensive 
throughout  the  day,  Olive  expectant.  At 
supper,  in  that  inconsequent  way  which 
wives  have  when  they  have  been  busy  and 
doubt  whether  their  husbands  have  been 
equally  occupied,  Mrs.  Cadwallader  asked 
Mr.  Cadwallader  where  he  had  been  all  day. 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,"  he  replied,  "  I  've 
been  to  see  Miss  Curtis.  She  was  to  have 
had  a  children's  party  this  afternoon,  but 
she 's  too  sick." 

Owen  moved  in  his  chair  as  if  a  crumb 
choked  him. 


38  MISS  CURTIS. 

"It  appears,"  the  father  continued,  "that 
somebody  sent  her  a  box  of  cream-cakes ; 
she  ate  one,  but  it  tasted  so  hot  that  she 
tried  another,  and  that  one  made  her  sick." 

"Is  she  going  to  die  ?"  inquired  Owen, 
thick  of  voice  and  pale  in  color. 

"  I  don't  think  so  ;  but  she  sent  for  two 
doctors, —  one  for  each  cream-cake,  she  told 
me,"  said  Mr.  Cadwallader  carelessly,  yet 
looking  out  of  his  left  eye  at  Olive  and 
out  of  his  right  eye  at  his  son.  No  one 
spoke  again  till  the  meal  ended. 

When  the  husband  and  wife  were  alone, 
he  began,  — 

"  My  dear,  do  you  suppose  —  " 

"  My  dear,"  she  interrupted,  "  all  comes 
round  to  him  who  can  wait." 

Miss  Curtis  soon  recovered.  When 
Owen  beheld  her  at  her  parlor  window,  he 
rang  the  door-bell  and  asked  to  see  her. 
As  he  was  ushered  into  her  presence  his 
courage  almost  forsook  him.  Not  allowing 
himself  the  hypocrisy  of  saying  he  was 


REVENGE.  39 

glad  to  see  her,  or  glad  that  she  was  better, 
he  put  his  cap  under  his  arm,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  assumed  the  first  position  and 
began,  — 

"  Miss  Curtis,  you  know  how  I  owed  it 
to  you  to  be  even  with  you ;  so  I  got  the 
cream-cakes,  and  put  red  pepper  into  one 
and  castor  oil  into  the  other,  and  sent  them 
to  you.  But  I  thought  you  'd  smell  it  first, 
—  I  always  do,  —  and  then  you  would  n't 
have  been  sick.  I  'm  real  sorry  I  did  it." 

"  You  're  sorry,  are  you  ?  You  did  it, 
did  you  ?  "  broke  forth  Miss  Curtis ;  "  and 
I  should  have  brought  an  action  against  the 
confectioner  for  poisoning,  if  I  had  n't  seen 
the  box  in  which  they  came,  and  your 
name  half  rubbed  out  on  the  under  side. 
I  sent  for  your  father  to  give  me  consola 
tion,  but  he  was  very  mixed  up.  It 's  a  wise 
father  who  knows  his  own  son ;  it  hurts 
pulpit  eloquence  to  have  a  bad  son.  Pews 
are  n't  worth  much  as  investments  anyhow 
nowadays,  and  when  they  go  way  down  in 


40  M ISS   CURTIS. 

value,  boys'  papas  don't  have  so  much  sal 
ary.     Being  poor  is  real  religious." 

"Oh,  ma'am,"  cried  Owen,  discouraged 
at  the  prospect  of  his  father's  lessened 
salary,  for  even  as  it  was  Owen  did  not 


blame ;  he  knew  nothing  about  it,  nor 
Olive  neither.  I  did  not  tell  any  one,  not 
even  Olive ;  I  only  looked  at  her  and  —  " 
he  paused. 

"Well?"  asked  the  old  lady  in  a  high- 
pitched  voice,  as  if  to  penetrate  into  his 
innermost  wretchedness. 

"  And  she  looked  at  me,  Miss  Curtis,  but 
I  can  swear  she  never  thought  of  my  do 
ing  so;  and  ever  since  she  heard  you  were 
sick  she 's  been  looking  so  responsible, 
when  I  never  talked  to  her  the  least  thing 
about  it." 

"  Umph ! "  replied  Miss  Curtis ;  "  looks 
are  as  plain  as  words.  You  both  better  give 
lessons  in  dramatic  action.  Now,  swear,  if 
you  know  how,  that  your  sister  had  noth- 


REVENGE.  41 

ing  to  do  with  your  plot  to  kill  me,  or 
I'll  —  " 

"  I  do  swear,  ma'am,  I  do  !  "  said  the  poor 
boy,  piteously. 

"  Umph !  that 's  all  you  know  about 
swearing,  is  it  ?  Well,  go  home  now  and 
tell  your  father  that  I  say  for  him  not  to 
give  you  any  more  pocket-money." 

He  hurried  out  of  the  room  without  even 
bidding  good-by.  To  be  so  insulted,  when 
he  was  apologetic  ;  and  she  was  n't  killed, 
only  had  learned  a  good  lesson !  To  add 
to  his  indignity,  his  father  withheld  his 
allowance  for  three  months,  just  as  Owen 
intended  to  buy  a  new  brown  and  yellow 
flannel  shirt  in  which  to  look  invincible 
through  the  summer.  When  in  .college, 
he  was  heard  to  say  that  he  had  never 
eaten  a  cream-cake  since  he  was  a  little 
boy. 


CHAPTER  V. 

QUITS. 

THIS  attempt  at  Miss  Curtis' s  reformation 
increased  Olive's  sense  of  responsibility. 
On  her  rested  atonement ;  but  to  what  de 
gree?  Should  she  confess  that  she  had 
truly  hoped  that  something  not  very  bad 
would  happen  to  Miss  Curtis,  and  that  she 
had  really  looked  at  her  brother  ?  She  had 
just  read  the  "  Marble  Faun."  She  thought 
of  Miriam's  glance,  of  Donatello's  act,  of  the 
priest's  death ;  yet  Miss  Curtis  had  only 
been  wholesomely  sick.  Olive  remembered, 
by  way  of  contrast,  that  Dante  had  been 
helped  by  looking  up  to  Beatrice ;  yet  he 
had  written  about  hell.  So  the  girl  had  re 
course  to  her  journal,  but  could  not  write 
out  at  length  her  reflections  in  the  few  lines 


QUITS.  43 

belonging  to  each  day's  record.  Not  recov 
ering  her  equanimity,  she  turned  back  to 
the  first  page  of  her  book  and  drew  solace 
from  its  dedication.  It  was  so  touching,  it 
might  mean  so  much.  She  had  written  it 
on  one  of  her  pessimistic  days,  when  her 
parents  did  not  understand  her  and  she 
had  felt  lonely.  The  words  ran,  "  To  my 
future  husband,  if  ever  he  should  care 
to  know  what  I  was  when  I  was  a  girl." 
Strengthened  by  the  motto,  "  Do  all  I  don't 
want  to  do,"  which  she  had  later  inscribed 
below  when  her  conscience  chided  her  for 
filial  ingratitude  and  want  of  prbper  ap 
preciation  of  the  value  of  daily  trials,  she 
decided  to  go  to  Miss  Curtis. 

"  Miss  Curtis,"  began.  Olive,  "  I  know 
you  've  been  sick,  and  I  'm  real  sorry  for 
you,  but  sorrier  for  myself.  I  did  not  know 
anything  about  the  cream-cakes,  but  I  did 
tell  Owen  that  you  must  not  have  another 
party,  and  we  just  looked  at  each  other,  and 
I  knew  he  'd  prevent  it ;  but  I  never  thought 


44  MISS  CURTIS. 

how,  and  I  Ve  been  miserable  ever  since  it 
happened." 

"  So  you  too  wanted  to  kill  me  ?  "  asked 
the  lady. 

"  No,  I  did  n't ;  I  onty  wanted  you  not 
to  have  another  party.  You  never  will,  will 
you  ?  "  urged  Olive. 

"  That 's  none  of  your  business,  child.  So 
you  just  looked  at  Owen  and  he  looked  at 
you,  and  then  he  tried  to  commit  murder." 

"  Oh  no,  ma'am,  we  did  n't ;  he  did  n't ;  " 
and  the  black  waters  which  closed  over 
Donatello's  priest  rose  before  her,  and  she 
almost  shrieked.  "  We  did  n't  either  of 
us.  I  '11  never  look  at  him  again  when 
he  is  thinking  and  I  am  thinking;  but 
really,  truly,  all  we  saw  in  each  other 
was  that  you  must  not  do  it.  I  see 
now,  looks  are  as  bad  as  words,  even 
if  you  don't  know  what  you  are  going  to 
say.  Oh  dear !  I  never  knew  responsibility 
went  into  looks ;  it  gets  into  everything !  oh 
dear,  oh  dear!"  and  Olive  began  to  sob. 


QUITS.  45 

"  What  are  you  crying  for,  child  ?  I  ain't 
killed." 

"  And  you  never  shall  be  !  I  'm  going 
to  come  and  cook  for  you  and  make  up  for 
my  look." 

"  Will  you  stay  here  to-night  with  me  ?  " 
hissed  Miss  Curtis. 

"  Yes,  —  always." 

"Then  go  home  and  tell  them  you  are 
coming  right  back  here." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

Olive  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  house 
before  she  had  realized  what  she  had  done. 
The  cool  air  braced  her  nerves ;  her  self- 
confidence  and  her  desire  to  make  atone 
ment  told  her  she  could  endure  the  test. 
She  met  her  mother's  misgivings  bravely, 
and  with  a  patronizing,  compassionate 
embrace  of  Owen,  she  returned  to  Miss 
Curtis. 

That  lady  had  been  watching  her  from 
the  window.  When  she  saw  her  actually 
coming,  bag  in  hand  and  waving  at  her  tri- 


46  MISS   CURTIS. 

umphantly,  she  rang  the  bell  and  ordered 
—  cream-cakes. 

Then  she  gave  herself  up  to  entertaining 
Olive.  She  opened  a  basket  of  bonbons, 
she  unlocked  a  drawer  of  treasures  for  her 
inspection,  she  told  her  stories  of  knights 
and  ladies,  till  Olive  forgot  all  fear  and 
sat  on  the  cushion  at  her  feet  twirling 
an  antique  ring  with  the  mediaeval  motto, 
"N'auray  aultre." 

"  You  are  curious,  child,"  said  Miss  Cur 
tis,  as  Olive  twisted  round  the  ring  on  her 
hostess's  finger.  "  I  suppose  you  think  it 
was  given  me.  Well,  it  was  n't ;  I  bought 
it.  People  buy  sentiment  cheaper  than 
they  can  grow  it." 

The  tea  was  served  from  wedgwood 
dishes  that  matched  the  candlesticks  in 
their  pale  blue  color  and  delicate  white 
tracery  of  mythological  events,  showing 
that  they  must  have  been  wrought  under 
the  artistic  criticism  of  the  old  Josiah 
Wedgwood,  whose  descendants  have  de- 


QUITS.  47 

viated  into  purplish  blue  colors  and  heavy 
embossing. 

The  waiter  handed  Olive  a  plate  of 
cream-cakes.  The  girl  colored  ;  she  glanced 
at  Miss  Curtis,  who  began  to  have  that 
strange  expression  which  Olive  so  well  re 
membered  since  Christmas  day. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Olive,  declining 
the  attention. 

"  Take  it !"  ordered  Miss  Curtis,  sternly. 

Olive  instantly  made  up  her  mind. 
Right  here  in  her  life  was  to  be  the  su 
preme  act  of  vicariousness,  the  utter  abne 
gation  of  self  for  the  sake  of  her  brother, 
the  life  given  for  a  life  attempted.  She 
took  and  ate.  She  tasted  pepper  and  oil, 
but  she  ate  it,  while  Miss  Curtis,  with 
hands  clasped  round  the  wedgwood  tea 
pot,  as  if  to  hold  it  or  herself  firmly, 
glowered  at  her  in  silence. 

"  Shall  I  die  ?  "  thought  Olive.  "  Good-by, 
mamma,  good-by,  Owen;"  and  still  she  ate. 
Her  throat  burned,  but  not  a  tear  fell. 


48  MISS  CURTIS. 

With  the  last  mouthful  she  looked  up 
gratefully,  and  took  up  the  conversation  at 
the  exact  point  where  it  had  dropped. 
Miss  Curtis's  hands  relaxed,  her  voice  was 
a  little  tremulous.  After  supper  the  waiter 
told  the  cook  that  Miss  Cadwallader  was  a 
match  in  spunk  for  their  mistress's  terrible- 
ness  when  she  got  going. 

The  evening  soon  ended  with  more  bon 
bons  and  a  game  of  checkers,  in  which  the 
old  lady  took  visible  pleasure  in  beating 
her  guest.  Olive  dreamed  that  her  speech 
was  henceforth  incarnated  into  her  looks, 
and  that  a  monument  had  been  erected  to 
her  by  a  grateful  brother.  The  next  morn 
ing  she  went  home  happy  in  her  sense  of 
victory,  but  told  no  one  of  the  cream-cakes, 
not  even  her  mother  or  Owen,  though  she 
wrote  it  down  hi  her  journal  for  the  ben 
efit  of  her  husband,  if  ever  she  should  meet 
him. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

OLIVE. 

OLIVE  had  put  the  shell  on  her  mantel 
piece,  and  there  it  stayed  as  a  day  of  judg 
ment,  of  vision,  and  as  a  reminder  of 
weekly  visits  to  Miss  Curtis;  for  the  old 
lady  had  become  very  fond  of  her,  and 
Olive  had  learned  to  understand  and  guide 
the  kind  of  dynamite  bitterness  which 
underlay  the  aged  heart.  She  kept  it 
from  bursting  into  action,  and  even  its 
explosive  words  seldom  now  poured  forth 
except  in  the  safety-valve  of  her  presence. 
She  soothed  the  lady's  fears  and  restored 
her  confidence  in  girls  and  boys,  though 
Miss  Curtis  never  learned  to  trust  Owen. 
The  mere  fact  of  his  existence  seemed  to 

her  like  a  handwriting  on  the  wall,  and 
4 


50  MISS   CURTIS. 

like  Belshazzar  she  trembled,  lest  the  boy 
should  again  exercise  judgment  upon  her. 

Olive  had  grown,  but  had  not  altered 
much,  since  the  early  days  of  her  acquaint 
ance  with  Miss  Curtis.  She  was  no  longer 
a  child,  she  was  not  yet  a  young  lady. 
As  she  expressed  it  in  imitation  of  mock 
philosophy,  she  was  a  potentiality  and  a 
conscious  personality.  Her  journal  she 
had  long  ago  laid  aside  with  a  sad  laugh 
for  the  way  in  which  she  had  pitied  her 
self.  She  now  had  too  many  occupations  to 
write  down  how  she  felt.  There  was  very 
little  in  her  life  which  was  not  known  to 
Miss  Curtis,  who  comprehended  the  girl's 
intense  longing  for  usefulness  and  activity 
better  than  did  Olive  herself. 

"Mothers  ought  to  die,"  reasoned  Miss 
Curtis,  "in  order  to  make  room  for  their 
girls.  Young  ladies  who  are  needed  at 
home  do  not  have  to  go  around  reforming 
and  legislating;  but  what  on  earth  can 
they  do  when  their  mothers  keep  about  ? 


OLIVE.  51 

As  for  reading  English  literature  as  a 
balm  to  their  minds,  it 's  nonsense,  —  this 
keeping  company  with  books  when  you 
are  silent  partner !  It  is  not  Nature's 
way.  Give  a  girl  action :  let  her  father 
be  a  widower  with  little  ones ;  let  her 
oldest  brother  marry  when  he  hasn't  a 
cent,  —  kill  off  his  wife,  bring  home  the 
child,  —  then  the  girl  that 's  got  a  mother 
living  has  something  to  do.  She  can  read 
history  and  novels  for  composure,  but  keep 
her  from  literature,  —  it  only  makes  her 
supercilious ;  or  if  it  does  n't,  she 's  always 
saying  what  other  people  think,  instead  of 
finding  out  what  she  herself  thinks." 

Under  the  scolding  good  sense  of  her 
queer  friend  and  the  loving  care  of  her 
mother  Olive  was  acquiring  a  sense  of 
responsibility,  and  a  desire  for  action  apart 
from  meditation,  which  might  become  op 
pressive  in  its  effect  upon  others,  and 
which  also  might  injure  her  own  longing 
for  graceful  effects.  .  It  was  well  that  her 


52  MISS  CURTIS. 

tendency  to  impatience  was  curbed  by  the 
far-reaching  views  of  life  her  mother  held. 

Mrs.  Cadwallader  was  one  of  those  wo 
men  who  never  used  parentheses  in  con 
versation.  The  result  of  her  constant 
thought  was  always  bubbling  up  in  short, 
crisp  sentences,  which,  as  they  had  become 
a  family  joke,  she  tried  to  avoid  or  to 
lengthen,  but  in  vain.  It  is  harder  to 
modify  one's  style  in  conversation  than  in 
writing.  Olive's  favorite  term  of  mingled 
admiration,  reproof,  and  confidence  for 
her  mother  was  "  my  ejaculatory  mamma," 
shortened  into  "  jac-mamrna."  Perhaps  if 
Mrs.  Cadwallader  had  not  sought  so 
eagerly  to  justify  existence  in  apology  for 
it,  Olive  would  not  have  grown  so  philo 
sophic,  as  a  matter  of  necessity. 

The  girl  was  never  unhappy,  yet  at 
times  her  notion  of  accountability  to  every 
body  and  everything  was  very  wearing. 
In  spite  of  this,  her  absolute  frankness 
of  manner,  her  real  reserve  in  all  that 


OLIVE.  53 

regarded  Jherself,  and  her  perfect  health 
made  her  a  very  attractive  maiden.  She 
knew  she  was  not  beautiful,  but  she  ac 
cepted  the  responsibility  of  plainness,  and 
paid  much  attention  to  her  toilet  and  the 
arrangement  of  her  hair.  She  always  con 
trived  to  make  other  girls  appear  at  their 
best,  never  advising  them  wrongly  concern 
ing  the  colors  which  suited  their  complex 
ions,  or  making  them  feel  ill  at  ease.  As 
a  natural  consequence  she  was  a  general 
confidante  and  favorite,  the  girls  calling 
her  stylish  and  sweet,  and  the  boys  "  a  boss 
trump." 

Olive  was  a  fair  scholar,  invariably  detect 
ing,  by  virtue  of  uncanny  penetration  rather 
than  of  knowledge,  any  slight  mistakes 
which  her  teachers  might  make.  This 
peculiarity  was  very  aggravating  and  un 
necessary,  but  it  was  part  of  her  frankness, 
not  of  her  ill-humor. 

There  was  one  point  on  which  she  always 
came  into  contact  with  her  instructors, — the 


54  MISS  CURTIS. 

right  to  go  to  parties  while  yet  at  school. 
She  had  even  handed  in  a  composition  on 
the  subject,  which  had  been  returned  as 
immature,  and  she  had  been  relegated  to 
the  topic  given  out  to  the  youngest  class,  — 
a  prose  version  of  "  We  are  Seven."     Not 
even  this  belittling  reprimand  could  change 
her  convictions.     She  asserted  the  inalien 
able  right  of  girls  to  go  to  the  evening 
dancing-classes,   and    she   openly   declared 
her  belief  in  the  german  as  preferable,  in 
its  effect  upon  the  character,  to  the  study  of 
mathematics  or  historical  dates.    Boys  were 
not  dangerous,  she  argued,  and  there  was 
no  harm  in  accidentally  meeting  them  in 
recess;  they  did  not  divert  the  mind  from 
lessons,  but  acted  as  stimuli.    The  teacher's 
province  was  in  the  school-room ;  education 
was  a  term  applied  to  the  whole  of  life; 
a  life  from  which  the  society  element  was 
excluded  until  one  was  out  of  school  was 
meagre,  narrow,  fearful,  and  made  a  girl 
a  regular  stick,  a  social  incubus.     Take 


OLIVE.  55 

boys  and  parties  as  one  goes  along,  and 
then  one  does  not  get  excited,  was  her 
maxim.  The  lady  principal  told  her  that 
if  she  did  not  give  her  mind  to  her  lessons, 
her  thoughts  would  dance  with  her  feet. 

"  But  they  don't,  and  my  averages  show 
that  they  don't,"  was  her  conclusive  reply. 

"You'll  enjoy  life  better  if  you  wait 
till  you  are  older  and  know  more,"  was 
rejoined. 

"I  don't  care  to  know  a  great  deal," 
retorted  Olive.  "I  rather  know  how  to 
make  the  most  of  a  little.  I  want  to  be 
happy  instead  of  being  ambitious.  Aver 
age  girls  have  got  to  be  average  in  every 
thing  but  happiness,  and  I  know  lots  of 
educated  people  who  are  unhappy." 

"  German  philosophy  is  the  root  of  hap 
piness,"  insisted  Fraulein  X.,  the  first 
assistant. 

"  French  phrases  make  you  sparkle  and 
use  your  pretty  hands  in  conversing," 
pleaded  Madame,  the  Parisian  teacher. 


56  MISS  CURTIS. 

"History  makes  you  comprehensive," 
stated  Professor  0. 

"All  very  true,"  replied  Olive  to  each 
in  turn.  "I  know  that  Toorgenef  and 
Tolstoi  are  not  Schopenhauer  and  Freytag  ; 
I  can  jabber  enough  French  for  a  courier, 
and  I  understand  the  causes  of  all  the 
decisive  battles  in  the  universal  histories, 
from  the  taking  of  Jericho  to  Irish  evic 
tions  ;  but  I  don't  like  doing  guerilla  war 
fare  in  encyclopaedias  just  to  know  facts 
and  summaries.  I  like  other  things  better 
than  study.  I  don't  care  for  per  cents ;  I 
would  n't  give  a  fig  to  be  a  college  grad 
uate  and  eat  corn-starch  ice-cream  at  alumni 
reunions.  Yet  you  all  want  me  to  study, 
study ! " 

What  could  be  done  with  a  girl  who  would 
sleep  if  she  were  sleepy,  eat  when  she  was 
hungry,  dance,  chatter,  and  make  every 
one,  even  teachers,  happy ;  never  miss  in  her 
lessons,  yet  never  be  a  brilliant  scholar  ? 

Olive  revenged  herself  for  the  advice  she 


OLIVE.  57 

did  not  need  by  being  full  of  theories  as  to 
the  way  in  which  she  ought  to  have  been 
brought  up,  and  as  to  the  .way  in  which  she 
would  bring  up  her  children.  To  keep  a 
fashionable  boarding-school,  and  show  peo 
ple  that  fashionable  girls  had  more  sense 
than  the  ordinary  kind  of  good  girls,  was 
the  height  of  her  ambition.  Fashion  was 
maligned ;  she  must  justify  it.  Nobody 
understood  girls;  it  was  a  great  shame. 
So  she  went  on  studying,  dancing,  sewing, 
cooking,  sweeping,  dusting,  rowing  on  the 
pond,  riding  on  horseback,  walking  with  a 
pedometer,  having  innumerable  friends  but 
no  chums  (as  fashionable,  frank  girls 
don't),  laying  much  stress  on  sitting 
straight,  walking  erect,  and  dressing  well. 
But  she  kept  her  best  thought  to  herself, 
with  the  fixed  purpose  of  thus  acquiring 
Greek  harmony  of  mind  and  body,  of  justi 
fying  her  own  ideal,  and  of  being  a  Vittoria 
Colonna  for  her  future  Michael  Angelo,  if 
ever  she  should  meet  him. 


CHAPTER  VH. 

AN    INTRUDER. 

"On,  Miss  Curtis,"  said  Olive  one  day, 
"  it  seems  as  if  I  should  go  wild !  I  can't 
make  myself  what  I  want  to  be.  I  can't 
make  mamma  into  my  ideal  self,  because 
she  and  papa  are  a  close  corporation  and 
make  their  own  by-laws ;  if  I  only  just 
had  some  one  to  be  my  other  self  !  Owen 
used  to  fancy,  when  he  was  a  little  fellow, 
that  he  had  a  son.  If  mamma  wanted  him 
to  do  something,  he  could  n't,  as  he  had  an 
engagement  with  his  son ;  and  if  she  gave 
him  sweetmeats,  he  always  saved  half  for 
his  son,  till  his  table  drawer  broke  down, 
it  was  so  full  of  dried  goodies.  We  had  to 
take  him  to  places  where  he  said  his  son 
was,  to  show  him  that  he  was  n't  there ; 


AN  INTRUDER.  59 

but  as  it  almost  broke  his  heart  not  to  find 
him,  we  let  him  and  his  son  alone  after  a 
time.  Now,  I  don't  want  a  son,  only  my 
other  self,  —  all  that  I  can't  be." 

"  What  is  your  other  self  going  to  be  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Curtis. 

"  Oh,"  replied  Olive  with  a  gasp,  "  she  's 
going  to  be  happy  because  it  is  natural; 
she  is  n't  going  to  have  oughts  in  her  life, 
but  wants  ;  and  she  is  to  be  free  to  satisfy 
all  her  wants,  and  —  " 

"  Free  to  do  as  she  pleases,  like  American 
girls  in  Europe,"  interposed  Miss  Curtis. 

"  No,  aunt,"  for  thus  Olive  often  called 
her.  "  I  can't  explain  it,  —  but  free  to  do 
right  because  she  is  n't  bound  by  any 
wanting  to  do  wrong.  She  is  to  be  neither 
single-minded  nor  duplex,  but  complex; 
so  she  will  have  the  unity  of  variety  or  the 
variety  of  unity,  I  am  not  sure  which 
would  be  the  rarer.  I  want  her  to  have 
the  freedom  of  necessarily  doing  as  she 
ought  to  do.  Aunt  Curtis,  I  wish  mothers 


60  MISS  CURTIS. 

would  see  that  it  is  necessary  to  leave 
their  daughters  free.  '  Kein  mensch  musz 
mussen,'  "  added  she  in  a  half  whisper. 

"German  fiddlesticks!"  muttered  Miss 
Curtis, —  "  safer,  though,  than  English  liter 
ature.  Philosophizing  over  life  is  n't  finical 
like  criticism  on  books  ;  that 's  like  prickly 
pears,  —  mind  and  mouth  get  puckered. 
As  to  mothers,  most  women  have  n't  any 
right  to  be  mothers,  except  to  babies ; 
they  don't  know  when  their  children  have 
grown  up." 

Just  then  Owen's  whistle  was  heard  out 
side  the  window,  and  Olive  obeyed  its  sum 
mons.  "  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nothing  much,"  was  the  reply ;  "  it  is 
too  bad  to  have  called  you  away.  It  is  only 
a  personal  matter ;  but  as  I  was  going  to 
lead  the  german  this  evening,  it  is  just  my 
luck  to  have  my  fun  spoiled  by  that  Western 
fellow  coming  to-night.  I  shall  have  to  be 
round  introducing  him  all  the  time,  and 
can't  go  off  on  my  own  devices." 


AN  INTRUDER.  61 

"  Has  he  come  already  ?  "  inquired  Olive. 

"  No,  but  he 's  telegraphed ;  those  ranch 
fellows  are  as  easy  with  telegrams  as  I  am 
with  postals." 

"  I  don't  see  what  harm  he  is  going  to 
do  ;  any  kind  of  a  boy  is  better  than  some 
kind  of  girls,"  remarked  Olive,  soothingly. 

"  If  it  were  a  flabby  girl,  you  'd  feel  as 
badly  as  I  do  with  a  cow-boy  on  my  hands." 

Olive  winced.  Both  knew  the  awkward 
ness  of  dealing  with  people  who  were  use 
ful  but  dull. 

"  He  '11  be  the  kind  that  drops  flat  as  a 
pancake  after  he  's  been  introduced,  though 
he  's  hot  when  you  dip  him.  I  took  the 
last  one  round  to  seven  girls,  and  he  got 
through  with  them  all  in  three  sentences 
apiece,"  moaned  Owen. 

"  Poor  boy  !  "  said  Olive.  "  Leave  him  to 
me  to-night ;  I  have  n't  any  partner." 

"  That's  uncommon  good  in  you.  I  '11 
give  you  a  lift  now  and  then." 

Great  was  Olive's  amazement,  an  hour 


62  MISS  CURTIS. 

later,  to  find  that  the  cow-boy  was  a  full- 
grown  young  man,  a  cross  between  a  min 
ister  and  a  ranch-man.  He  was  neither  a 
Sam  Jones  Baptist  nor  a  St.  Matthew's  Guild 
churchman.  He  looked  more  like  a  Toyn- 
bee  Hall  man,  —  as  if  he  could  live  in  a 
bad  condition  of  things  and  yet  be  patient. 
He  might  be  taken  to  a  Washington  diplo 
matic  ball  or  to  a  Tremont  Temple  tem 
perance  meeting  (as  extremes  meet),  but 
not  to  the  middle  ground,  in  age  and  social 
capacity,  of  a  dancing  class. 

"What  should  she  do  ?  Her  father  had  a 
funeral  call  to  make  that  evening, —  a  never- 
to-be-procrastinated  duty ;  and  mamma,  — 
she  ought  not  to  be  depended  upon  because 
she  was  papa's  wife.  The  visitor  must  be 
taken  care  of.  Olive  somehow  felt  herself 
accountable  for  his  having  a  good  time. 

She  held  a  private  consultation  with 
Owen  on  the  subject,  who  understood  the 
genus  to  which  the  stranger  belonged  bet 
ter  than  did  Olive. 


AN  INTRUDER.  63 

" My  dear,"  said  he,  loftily,  "Mr.  Kimen 
is  a  fellow  who  had  views  and  was  ambi 
tious,  but  was  too  dreamy  to  work  for 
college  honors,  so  he  took  to  ranching 
and  moral  purposes.  He  is  polite  to  cow 
boys,  calls  by  name  his  cattle  on  a  thou 
sand  hills,  but  doesn't  know  enough  to 
give  them  salt.  Ranching  failed,  and  he 
has  come  back  to  live  on  his  ancestors ; 
but  they  are  a  mighty  poor  lot,  for  they 
never  were  in  society.  If  you  don't 
mind  having  him  sit  by  you  to-night,  it 
would  do  his  soul  good ;  he  's  longing  to 
see  life." 

"  How  do  you  know  anything  about  him, 
Owen  ?  Perhaps  he  is  only  a  Greenbacker, 
or  a  Prohibitionist,  or  an  eight-hour  labor 
reformer.  A  fellow  has  to  be  just  your 
style  or  he  won't  do." 

"  I  know  him,"  chuckled  Owen,  "  by  his 
shuffling  walk,  that  weak  mildness  of  his 
eye,  and  his  respectful  manners.  Why,  he 
called  you  ma'am !  He  is  an  incipient  theo- 


64  MISS  CURTIS. 

logical  student,  with  not  backbone  enough 
to  be  a  minister." 

"  Owen,  I  know  he  is  sublime ;  you  sha'  n't 
make  fun  of  him." 

"  Oh  yes,  he  could  dance  cotillons  and 
swing  you  in  the  Virginia  reel,  but  he  can't 
comprehend  the  mazy,  mystical  german ; 
he  '11  go  with  you  fast  enough." 

Olive  shuddered.  She  had  a  horror  of 
countrified  nobility.  She  knew  she  ought 
to  like  it,  but  she  could  not  make  herself 
want  to  like  it.  Now  she  could  do  penance. 
As  she  was  not  engaged  for  that  evening, 
she  had  decided  not  to  run  the  risk  of  get 
ting  a  partner  when  in  the  hall,  but  to 
wear  her  hat  and  sit  on  the  narrow-cush 
ioned  settee  in  front  of  the  draughty  win 
dows,  where  the  fellows  could  come  and 
talk  to  her  if  they  would;  and  if  they 
did  n't,  she  could  chat  with  any  damsel 
who  happened  to  be  forsaken.  So  she  be 
came  a  heroine,  drew  on  her  perfectly  fit 
ting  yellow  kids,  which  she  felt  Mr.  Kimen 


AN  INTRUDER.  65 

appreciate,  and  went  down  with  him  in  the 
horse-car  to  the  hall. 

The  dancing-school  was,  as  far  as  society 
was  concerned,  the  only  one  in  a  large  city 
of  four  hundred  thousand  inhabitants.  Not 
that  only  two  or  three  hundred  persons 
danced,  but  that  all  the  rest  of  the  peo 
ple  were  out  of  society.  Its  master  was  a 
thorough  gentleman,  one  who  well  knew 
the  peculiarities  of  the  city,  but  who  never 
betrayed  his  knowledge,  except  in  his  divi 
sion  of  the  week  into  public  and  private 
afternoons  and  evenings.  No  one  knew 
better  than  he  just  where  each  person 
was  supposed  to  belong ;  and  no  one  more 
quietly  ignored  this  microscopic  informa 
tion  concerning  human  pedigree  than  did 
he,  giving  his  cordial  personal  esteem  to 
those  who  deserved  it.  The  noble  order  of 
matrons  preserved  him  from  the  social  pen 
alties  of  liking  whom  he  would,  for  on  them 
rested  the  assignment  of  rank. 

To    be   in   one   matron's   class   was   no 

5 


66  MISS  CURTIS. 

guarantee  that  a  pupil  could  be  admitted 
into  another ;  it  depended  entirely  upon 
who  was  the  matron.  To  be  on  the  list 
did  indeed  render  promotion  probable ;  but 
woe  to  those  matrons  who  dared  admit 
some  one  a  shade  off  color,  —  how  quickly 
it  was  known !  —  and  bliss  to  those  who 
at  last  attained  the  goal  of  their  wishes 
for  their  children  !  Parents  who  would 
have  scorned  the  ascent  of  the  social 
ladder  for  themselves,  clung  convulsively 
to  its  lowest  rounds  for  the  sake  of  their 
daughters,  and  would  gladly  have  counted 
down  their  plebeian  dollars  to  have  gained 
admission  for  them.  To  the  honor  of  the 
retail  trade  be  it  said,  the  nearest  approach 
to  a  bribe  ever  made  was  when  some  com 
mission  merchant  (not  dealer),  or  some  pro 
fessional  man,  remarked  to  his  wife,  who 
was  matron,  "  My  dear,  I  know  that  girl's 
father  in  a  business  way ;  he  told  me  his 
wife  was  to  apply  to  you." 

The  inheritor  of  established  social  cus- 


AN  INTRUDER.  67 

torn,  but  with  a  keen  financial  comprehen 
sion  of  the  alliance  between  trade  and 
fashion,  eyed  her  husband,  and  admitted 
the  daughter  of  the  dealer  in  small  wares, 
who  did  not  go  to  the  same  day  school 
with  her  own  child,  and  who  sat  in  the 
opposite  aisle  at  church. 

The  true  inwardness  of  admission  could 
not  be  borne  in  upon  the  nerves  until  one 
was  admitted.  To  be  the  child  of  a  min 
ister,  lawyer,  or  banker  did  not  of  itself 
insure  cordiality;  it  depended  upon  who 
was  who.  Then  it  was  seen  that  only 
those  mothers  who  knew  the  matrons  well 
elsewhere,  conversed  freely  with  them  in 
the  hall;  the  rest  exchanged  the  formal 
ities  of  the  season,  and  rehearsed  among 
themselves  the  number  of  years,  and  of 
afternoons  in  a  year,  during  which  they  had 
sat  in  the  same  seat  while  their  daughters 
danced,  and  had  never  spoken  to  a  certain 
neighbor  on  the  same  settee. 

Oh,   the    exclusiveness   resting    not    on 


68  MISS   CURTIS. 

birth  nor  yet  on  dress,  abiding  not  on 
money  nor  on  fame,  but  on  intangible- 
ness  ;  the  most  delicate  aroma  of  gratified 
self-perceptions  intermingling  in  a  pot 
pourri  of  carefully-nourished  self-conscious 
nesses  ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    DANCING-CLASS. 

THE  first  evening  the  class  opened,  the 
social  lines  were  grazed  by  the  light  breath 
of  greeting.  The  matrons  sat  on  the  upper 
side  of  the  hall.  They  were  arrayed  in 
that  severe  simplicity  which  betokened 
that  this  was  a  class,  not  a  ball.  Clusters 
of  maidens  and  boys  hovered  round  the 
separate  doors  of  the  ante-rooms.  At  last 
the  procession  began  in  squads  or  couplets ; 
the  girls  with  a  shuffling  step  moved  for 
ward,  shaking  their  draperies  into  place. 
The  matrons  watched  the  girls  as  they  ad 
vanced.  One  came  up  cheerily;  the  ma 
trons  knew  her  and  shook  hands  with  her 
calmly.  Another  came,  whose  name  could 


70  MISS   CURTIS. 

not  be  recalled ;  the  matrons  coldly  bowed, 
and  questioned  one  another's  memory. 

"  Who  admitted  her  ?  She  was  not  on 
my  list." 

The  girl  felt  it,  the  next  comer  heard  it, 
soon  all  were  aware  that  the  father  of  that 
special  girl  was  an  excellent  man,  who 
once  had  had  dealings  with  the  patrician 
husband  of  a  matron  ;  that  she  was  a  good 
girl,  and  that  her  mother  was  a  quiet  wo 
man  whom  no  one  knew.  Then  came 
another  damsel,  with  that  assurance  of 
birth  which  makes  its  own  welcome.  She 
was  received  as  an  intimate  friend,  and  told 
to  bid  her  mother  come  and  sit  by  the 
matrons.  All  the  other  ladies  saw  the  per 
son  thus  noticed  cross  the  hall  and  take  the 
proffered  seat,  and  all  bore  it  meekly.  So 
the  line  filed  on. 

The  opportunities  of  matrons  !  In  them 
was  vested  the  power  to  guide  the  artificial 
or  natural  growth  of  these  dancers  into  true 
womanhood.  By  their  welcomes,  by  their 


THE  DANCING-CLASS.  71 

very  smiles,  they  could  make  that  hall  into 
an  arena  of  baffling  feminine  convention 
alities,  or  of  noble  heart  impulses  and  grace 
ful  courtesies. 

Then  came  the  shambling  boys,  each 
advancing  on  to  the  elbow  of  the  other, 
some  bowing  at  a  distance  of  four  yards, 
turning  round,  and  disappearing  into  the 
dressing-room ;  others  boldly  approaching 
the  seat  of  the  dignitaries  and  bending 
forward  with  sophomoric  elegance.  Then 
there  was  a  final  rush  of  boys  toward  girls, 
which  was  intrepidly  met  by  serried  rows 
of  smiling,  waiting  maidens.  Each  girl, 
hanging  her  left  hand  over  the  biceps  of 
the  boy's  right  shoulder,  his  right  hand, 
with  the  handkerchief  protector,  touching 
with  its  finger-tips  the  middle  of  her  back, 
the  right  and  left  hands  of  both  meeting 
in  outstretched  diagonal  lines,  with  the 
space  of  a  foot  between  them,  was  hurried 
off  in  a  frenzy  called  a  glide,  to  the  other 
end  of  the  hall  and  back.  The  matrons 


72  MISS  CURTIS. 

looked  somewhat  after  the  unpartnered 
girls,  though  rather  by  intimations  to  the 
gentlemanly  instructor  than  by  any  direct 
introductions  of  their  own,  which  might 
be  compromising  to  themselves  or  embar 
rassing  to  the  boys. 

The  class  had  met  for  several  weeks.  It 
was  now  Lent;  some  were  absent  from 
principle,  apparently  to  the  advantage  of 
the  others,  for  those  who  were  away  were 
the  belles.  As  boys  seldom  have  to  con 
form  to  Church  regulations,  the  numerical 
relation  between  the  youth  and  the  maids 
was  not  as  disproportioned  as  usual. 

Mr.  Kimen  had  accepted  Olive's  invita 
tion  with  secret  pleasure,  though  he  was 
not  quite  sure  whether  a  dancing-class  were 
a  Baden-Baden  or  a  Carlsbad-Waters  kind 
of  place.  It  was  not  Western.  He  had  a 
fancy  for  watching  faces.  It  was  a  pretty 
scene,  —  the  simply  tapestried  hall,  the  pol 
ished  floor,  the  brilliant  lights,  the  soft 
dresses,  and  the  youthful  figures. 


THE  DANCING-CLASS.  73 

"  Is  it  a  Quaker  or  a  Shaker  dance  first, 
that  the  boys  and  girls  are  standing  in 
separate  herds  ?  "  asked  he. 

"Ranch-like  idea,"  thought  Olive,  se 
cretly  ;  but  outwardly  she  explained  that  it 
was  due  to  propriety  or  to  timidity.  Then 
when  the  rush  for  the  glide  began,  she 
waited  for  another  simile.  None  came  ;  he 
was  too  much  amused  with  the  incongruous 
politeness  of  the  scene  to  venture  any  com 
ment.  The  recurrent  integrations  and  dis 
integrations  of  the  german  were  to  him 
involutions  of  disorder.  He  felt  a  divine 
compassion  for  the  girls  to  whom  the  mas 
ter  dragged  unwilling  partners  by  constant 
shoves  and  hitches,  and  for  those  other 
girls  who  sat  patiently  while  the  popular 
ones  were  taken  and  they  were  left ;  and 
he  recollected  the  words  about  the  destruc 
tion  of  Jerusalem. 

"They  are  used  to  it,"  said  Olive ;  "most 
of  us  learn  to  be  wall-flowers,  only  some 
are  quiet  parasites  of  the  chairs,  while 


74  MISS   CURTIS. 

others  restlessly  seek  a  partner  with  eyes 
or  fan." 

"  How  is  the  class  made  up  ? "  inquired 
Mr.  Kimen. 

"  '  Made  up !'  "  returned  Olive,  rather  in 
dignantly  ;  "  we  don't  make  up  classes, 
they  grow.  This  is  a  private  class ;  the 
matrons  invite  whom  they  choose  to  join 
it.  It  is  just  as  private  as  if  it  were  their 
own  party  in  their  own  house,  only  those 
whom  they  invite  are  not  yet  out." 

"  '  Out ! '  Miss  Cadwallader ;  are  they 
vexed  ? " 

"  Oh ! "  replied  she,  merrily,  "  you 
thought  I  meant  put  out !  I  mean,  we 
don't  come  out  till  next  winter ;  we  are 
buds,  and  it  would  not  do  for  us  to  come 
here  without  matrons.  They  are  very  par 
ticular,  for  we  are  under  their  charge,  and 
they  must  know  all  about  a  girl  before 
they  admit  her.  It  is  generally  their 
friends'  children  who  come ;  but  sometimes 
some  one  applies  whom  they  don't  know, 


THE  DANCING-CLASS.  75 

and  then,  if  they  find  out  she  's  a  nice  girl, 
they  take  her  in.  It  is  the  character  of 
the  girl  which  decides  it,  they  say ;  but 
you  know  that 's  an  adjustable  word." 

Evidently  Olive  retained  her  childish 
way  of  exhausting  a  subject  before  she 
stopped  speaking. 

"  I  suppose  all  your  friends  belong  to  it," 
observed  Mr.  Kimen. 

"No,  indeed.  Some  of  them  grumble, 
but  it  is  very  shoddy  in  them  to  do  so. 
The  matrons  are  always  kind,  and  get  us 
partners  sometimes,  and  give  us  little  hints 
when  we  glide  too  fast,  or  don't  stand  up 
straight  enough  in  the  waltz ;  and  we  girls 
feel  protected,  for  they  would  not  let  any 
thing  happen.  If  our  mothers  can't  come, 
we  can  go  to  the  matrons ;  they  treat  us  all 
alike,  only  they  are  kindest  to  the  wall-flow 
ers,  which  makes  them  feel  like  orphans." 

Olive  had  grown  so  eager  in  her  defence 
of  abused  matrons,  that  she  had  been  over 
heard  by  her  neighbor,  who  muttered,  — 


76  MISS  CURTIS. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  so  when  you 
are  on  the  list,  but  when  you  are  n't,  a 
matron  is  a  sphinx;  you  can't  learn  why 
you  are  rejected.  It  is  always  the  other 
matron  who  did  it." 

"  What  is  it  makes  a  belle  ? "  was  an 
other  of  Mr.  Kimen's  leading  questions. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Olive.  "  Some 
say  it  is  figure,  or  good  dancing,  or  know 
ing  how  to  talk,  or  being  pretty,  —  but  it 
is  n't  that  last.  Mamma  says  it  is  the 
power  of  circumscribed  adaptation;  she 
means  a  girl  adapts  herself  to  small  people, 
not  to  causes." 

There  was  not  a  girl  in  the  hall  who  did 
not  know  that  Olive  was  having  a  better 
time  than  if  she  were  dancing.  In  the 
dressing-room  they  crowded  round  her  and 
plied  her  with  questions.  All  she  knew, 
was,  that  her  companion  was  or  had  been 
a  ranch-man  and  was  a  friend  of  papa's, 
—  through  the  parish  somehow.  In  her 
secret  heart  she  wondered  if  Mr.  Kimen 


THE  DANCING-CLASS.  77 

were  going  to  be  another  Phillips  Brooks, 
or  a  leader  of  a  Chautauqua  Assembly. 

Owen  came  home  in  ecstasy.  He  had 
led  the  german,  and  led  it  with  the  ac 
knowledged  belle  of  the  winter,  who  had 
been  taken  out  all  the  time,  so  that  he  had 
had  opportunity  to  flit  from  girl  to  girl, 
lighting  on  the  vacant  chairs  as  if  he  were 
an  exhausted  yet  self-perpetuating  sacri 
fice,  fanning  briefly  the  occupants  of  the 
seats,  examining  their  cards  interroga 
tively  (he  rarely  committed  himself),  and 
then  leaving  with  benignity. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

EQUALITY. 

AT  breakfast  the  next  morning  Mr. 
Cadwallader  observed,  — 

"  Olive,  Mr.  Kimen  is  not  a  believer  in 
some  of  your  theories ;  he  has  n't  much 
faith  in  ambition  and  embroidery,  and  he 
even  doubts  about  philanthropy." 

Owen  bestowed  upon  his  father  that 
patronizing  smile  with  which  quick-witted 
youth  greet  the  attempts  of  their  seniors  to 
be  jocose  ;  he  winked  one  eye  at  his  sister, 
—  the  eye  the  visitor  could  not  see,  —  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Humbug ! "  and  asked 
Mr.  Kimen  if  he  were  an  evolutionist. 

"  Oh,"  interposed  Olive,  whose  kindness  of 
heart  always  made  her  sensitive  to  the  em 
barrassment  of  leading  questions,  and  who 


EQUALITY.  79 

recognized  too  well  the  difficulty  of  starting 
general  conversation  to  be  willing  to  lose 
any  point  of  commencement  for  it,  "let 
us  take  him  to  the  l  Shelter  and  Exercise 
Yard  for  Cats/  to  cure  his  doubt." 

"  And  to  the  public  schools,  to  show 
him  the  futility  of  ambition,"  added  Owen, 
penitently. 

"  What  is  it  about  cats  ?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Kimen. 

"It  is  a  Befriending  Committee,  and 
they  give  cats  and  dogs  the  same  soup  that 
the  French  peasants  eat,  but  it  works  like 
the  Southern  alligators,  —  Northern  market 
stocked  with  purses  and  shoes  of  those 
creatures ;  few  of  them  living  round  New 
Orleans  wharves  in  consequence,  so  rats 
rejoice  and  combine,  and  levees  are  under 
mined." 

"But  cats!  "  said  Mr.  Kimen;  "I  don't 
see  the  connection." 

"Why,  boys  with  bean-blowers  have  lost 
their  occupation;  the  price  of  traps  has 


80  MISS   CURTIS. 

risen  as  cats  have  disappeared  and  mice 
increased." 

The  guest  looked  thoughtful,  and  in 
quired  meekly,  "Is  there  the  same  cor 
respondence  between  the  schools  and 
ambition  ?  " 

"  Public  schools,  yes,"  replied  Owen, 
with  scornful  emphasis  on  the  word  public. 
"  They  have  destroyed  simplicity ;  I  was 
brought  up  in  them,  and  know.  We  al 
ways  perorated  on  Washington,  and  wrote 
on  the  advantages  of  one  term,  so  as  to 
give  the  spoils  all  round,  as  each  graduate 
has  got  to  be  President ;  that  is  what  com 
mon  schools  are  for,  —  to  protest  against 
Civil  Service  Reform.  Education  is  no 
longer  for  inward,  private  uses,  but  to 
make  us  get  up  and  get  on.  Every  girl 
is  going  to  be  a  professor ;  no  one  will 
be  left  to  be  taught.  It  is  a  '  first-class 
circus.' ' 

"  Your  slang  stands  in  contrast  to  your 
sense,"  remarked  his  mother. 


EQUALITY.  81 

"  Oh,  one  is  premature  and  the  other  is 
a  boy's  vernacular,  eh,  Mr.  Kimen  ?  " 

"  I  shall  leave  the  cats  to  themselves," 
replied  he,  rather  offended  with  Owen's  ease, 
and  anxious  to  guide  the  conversation  for 
his  own  information ;  "  but  there  must  be 
chance  for  some  noble  work  in  the  schools, 
—  wrong  ideas  to  correct,  uses  of  moral 
education  to  instil !  Are  the  private  schools 
as  bad  ?  "  His  voice  grew  emphatic  ;  Owen 
stared,  but  his  self-confidence  was  never  at 
a  loss  for  reply,  —  satisfactory  to  himself 
at  least. 

"  Oh,  all  the  society  fellows  go  to  them, 
and  no  kind  of  a  girl  goes  to  a  public  school. 
It  is  n't  right,  though.  It  makes  feeling, 
and  starts  us  as  snobs.  In  colleges  it  is  dif 
ferent.  The  Beck  Hall  fellows  have  not 
any  feeling  against  the  grinds.  Schools  are 
not  managed  right  yet." 

" (  He  who  wants  a  horse  without  a 
fault,  may  go  afoot,'  "  observed  Jac-mamma, 
quietly. 


82  MISS   CURTIS. 

"  But,  Madam,"  expostulated  the  guest, 
" '  every  fox  has  to  take  care  of  its  own 
tail.'  " 

Owen's  respect  for  the  visitor  instantly 
increased.  He  had  retorted  on  his  moth 
er's  argument  with  her  own  weapon.  With 
a  deprecatory  look  at  Olive,  Mr.  Kimen 
inquired  of  her  whether  the  mania  for  em 
broidery  were  weakening  womankind.  If 
Mr.  Kimen  had  gained  with  Owen,  he  in 
stantly  lost  with  Olive.  She  replied  se 
verely  that  aprons,  breads,  pickles,  and 
jellies  were  taking  its  place  at  women's  ex 
changes,  but  that  in  decorative  art  rooms 
its  value  was  estimated  by  architects. 

"  Are  not  both  depots  for  products  ?  "  he 
asked  in  note-book  manner. 

Olive  was  in  despair.  Only  one  who  had 
been  on  a  ranch  could  so  confuse  an  institu 
tion  to  help  woman  with  a  society  for  im 
personal  artistic  development.  How  could 
she  explain  the  difference  to  one  who  did  not 
feel  it? 


EQUALITY.  83 

Mr.  Kimen  became  confused  in  his  turn. 
Having  lived  some  time  in  the  West,  his 
earnestness  had  grown  at  the  expense  of 
his  subtlety.  He  had  become  convinced 
that  life  itself  was  noble  and  grand,  only 
its  emphases  had  been  wrongly  placed.  As 
Owen  had  shrewdly  guessed,  he  had  aban 
doned  ranching  as  not  enabling  him  to  do 
his  part  in  solving  social  problems,  and  had 
returned  to  bring  his  fresh  thought  to  the 
effete  East.  Olive  meant  something  by  her 
words.  "Was  it  reproof  ? 

Owen  was  an  enigma  also,  for  the  slang 
in  his  colloquialism  did  not  hide  the  lurk 
ing  conventionalism  of  his  spirit.  Yet  this 
was  a  minister's  house,  where  he  had  ex 
pected  to  find  that  life  was  conducted  on  a 
real  basis  !  He  made  one  more  attempt  to 
understand  the  difference  between  woman 
and  art. 

"  Does  n't  womankind  —  I  mean  working- 
girls,  —  don't  they  need  to  be  helped  ? "  he 
asked. 


84  MISS   CURTIS. 

"  No  more  than  manhood —  working-men, 
and  cattle-dealers  need  to  be  helped,"  was 
the  quick  reply. 

"  Olive !  "  spoke  her  father,  warningly. 

She  paid  no  heed  to  him ;  her  indigna 
tion  roused,  she  continued  eagerly,  — 

"  It  is  just  like  you  men  to  think  women 
are  different  from  men,  and  that  working- 
girls  are  different  from  women.  You  are 
always  classifying  by  names,  but  have  not 
the  articles  ready  for  your  labels.  It  is  like 
all  the  public-school  talk  about  being  equal. 
That  is  what  spoils  the  exchanges.  We 
are  not  all  equal,  and  we  don't  want  to  be. 
It  is  demoralizing  to  be  equal.  What  we 
want  is  to  be  recognized  for  just  what  we 
are,  —  you  as  shop-girl,  I  as  young  lady. 
Shop-girls  don't  want  things  done  for  them  ; 
they  know  how  to  be  their  own  presidents 
and  secretaries,  and  can  manage  their  com 
mittees  without  our  benevolence.  We  are 
always  following  out  our  own  ideas  in  help 
ing  them,  and  thinking  they  ought  to  wear 


EQUALITY.  85 

our  old  hair-ribbons,  when  they  prefer  to 
buy  long  horn  hairpins  with  a  glass  ball 
at  the  end.  I  think  we  might  just  try  to 
make  them  happy,  instead  of  bothering 
them  by  trying  to  improve  them." 

"  Olive,  dear,  that  is  just  what  you 
do  with  your  cash-girls,"  said  her  mother, 
soothingly. 

"  I  know,  mamma.  It  is  because  you  let 
me  have  them  in  my  own  room ;  if  we  had 
to  meet  at  a  charity  bureau  or  a  vestry,  we 
should  have  an  improvement  committee 
after  us.  All  I  mean  is,  that  if  Mr.  Kimen 
has  come  here  to  do  good,  he  had  best  find 
out  first  what  is  being  done  in  things 
which  don't  get  into  reports ;  and  that 
shop-girls  don't  need  peculiar  treatment 
any  more  than  he  does  himself." 

"  Olive ! "  said  her  father,  this  time  sternly. 

Owen  patted  her  shoulder  approvingly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  returned  Olive, 
turning  to  Mr.  Kimen  as  she  left  the 
table. 


86  MISS  CURTIS. 

The  young  man  rose  and  bowed  with 
true  humility  before  her  avenging  spirit. 
She  held  out  her  hand,  and  as  he  clasped 
it  like  a  cattle-dealer  he  felt  his  own 
earnestness  tempered  by  her  girlish  grace. 
The  little  pantomime  brought  peace.  Mrs. 
Cadwallader  never  apologized  for  her  chil 
dren  nor  explained  them  to  others.  She 
had  too  much  regard  for  their  personality 
to  do  either  one  or  the  other. 

Mr.  Kimen  found  enough  opportunity, 
as  self-elected  inspector,  to  examine  more 
charities  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of  as 
existing  in  one  city.  Private  funds  had 
been  left  for  every  kind  of  philanthropic 
device,  —  all  tied  up  in  a  way  which  created 
a  perpetual  embargo  upon  the  future,  and 
taxed  legal  ingenuity  to  devise  it.  In 
charitable  and  educational  movements  he 
beheld  an  inordinate  ambition.  No  one 
seemed  to  be  doing  anything  for  the  sake 
of  happiness,  even  in  efforts  at  industrial 
education.  Children  were  not  taught  for 


EQUALITY.  87 

the  sake  of  present  or  future  enjoyment, 
but  that  they  could  become  contractors  or 
"  bosses."  It  was  power,  reputation,  more 
than  money,  for  which  each  one  strove. 

In  the  women's  meetings  he  attended 
he  heard  exhortations  to  make  the  most  of 
one's  self;  to  make  one's  influence  recog 
nized  ;  to  become  a  type  of  the  new  woman. 
To  be  sure,  it  was  to  be  and  do  all  this 
for  the  sake  of  influencing  men,  but  not  on 
the  old  ground  of  pleasing  them ;  the  new 
"  kingdom  come  "  was  to  improve  them. 

He  heard  of  the  elevation  of  the  poor 
in  their  homes,  and  pondered  on  elevated 
railroads.  Registration  was  another  hobby 
or  necessity.  Records  of  births,  deaths,  in 
comes,  number  of  children,  occupations, 
presents  received  and  given,  big  and  little 
virtues,  all  were  kept  in  volumes.  Every 
thing  was  on  the  composite  photograph 
plan ;  the  individual  had  given  place  to 
the  race.  His  own  life  had  been  haunted 
by  infinite  compassion  for  the  last  man, 


88  MISS  CURTIS. 

when  the  elements  should  melt  with  fer 
vent  heat ;  now  he  saw  that  the  individual 
was  already  ingulfed,  and  that  the  whole 
race  was  painlessly  becoming  an  abstrac 
tion  in  tabular  statement.  If  this  wrere  not 
wholly  true,  it  was  true  that  a  great  ought 
stood  imprinted  on  the  face  of  all  those 
who  were  trying  to  help  mankind.  Kant's 
categorical  imperative  was  embodied  in  its 
most  authoritative  form.  He  hoped  to  be 
urged  by  it  to  greater  effort,  but  he  became 
inert  and  enjoyed  his  daily  meals.  With 
out  being  aware  of  it,  he  was  relieved 
when  no  one  tried  to  be  brilliant  or  instruc 
tive,  but  all  were  natural  and  contented. 

Innocent  jokes,  stale  puns,  and  chirping 
humor  are  less  fatiguing  than  lofty  plati 
tudes  or  a  sense  of  conscious  effort.  Hav 
ing  lost  happiness  by  morbid  design,  we 
must  now  cultivate  it  as  an  art,  and  seek 
health  as  its  appendage. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE    CLUB. 

OXE  evening  as  Mr.  Kimen  sat  in  his 
room  he  heard  such  bubbles  of  laughter 
as  young  girlhood  alone  emits. 

"  Olive  and  her  cash-girls,"  explained 
Owen.  "If  you  choose,  you  can  stand 
athwart  the  entry,  look  obliquely  into  the 
transom,  and  see  all  that  goes  on.  Ten 
cents  a  show !  I  've  let  it  out  to  the  boys 
and  made  lots." 

By  the  aid  of  his  own  ears,  Owen's  illus 
trations,  and  one  fleeting  glance,  Mr.  Ki 
men  obtained  a  rather  clear  idea  of  the 
affair.  The  Game  Club  was  composed  of 
eight  or  nine  little  thin  cash  girls  and  boys. 
The  rules  of  admission  for  girls  applied 
to  hair;  those  who  used  <•' fluffy  Fedoras" 


90  A/755   CURTIS. 

could  not  enter.  It  met  every  week,  and 
had  two  hours  of  games  interspersed  with 
such  literary  exercises  as  "  consequences " 
and  "shouting  cities,"  with  quiet  intervals  of 
progressive  checkers  and  jackstraws.  Once 
a  month  each  one  read  or  spoke  a  piece  of 
poetry ;  quite  often  it  was  original,  and  gave 
glimpses  of  an  inner  life ;  as  follows  :  — 

"  The  sun  art  an  angel  of  God, 

The  moon  art  an  angel  of  God, 

The  stars  art  an  angel  of  God, 
And  all  those  who  dwell  in  the  house  of  God, 
And  all  those  who  dwell  in  the  sight  of  God, 

Dwell  in  the  soul  of  God  : 
And  all  those  who  dwell  in  the  soul  of  God 
Are  the  children,  the  men,  and  the  angels  of  God." 

It  was  in  simple  ways  that  Olive  made 
the  children  happy.  When  asked  why 
she  succeeded,  she  answered,  — 

"It  is  boys,  —  co-education  in  fun.  We 
are  not  wishing  for  boys  when  we  have 
them ;  and  then  they  go  home  with  the 
girls." 

She  had  a  little  lending  library  for  them, 


THE   CLUB.  91 

from  which  stories  about  poor  girls  be 
coming  remarkable  women  were  carefully 
excluded.  Earlier,  Olive  had  made  herself 
wretched  by  trying  to  be  what  she  could 
not  be ;  and  she  was  determined  that  these 
girls  should  not  be  exposed  to  biographical 
temptation.  Books  about  the  American 
Revolution  and  about  girls  and  boys  who 
lived  on  farms  and  grew  up  and  married 
each*  other  and  located  permanently,  Miss 
Martineau's  ever-fresh  tales  of  political 
economy,  "  Alice  in  "Wonderland,"  "  Liliput 
Levee,"  and  "Liliput  Lectures"  wer£  im 
portant  favorites.  From  her  love  of  the 
last  two  Olive  dated  her  own  liking  for 
poetry  and  her  interest  in  the  happiness  of 
the  masses,  as  she  laughingly  called  all 
those  whom  she  wanted  to  become  like  her 
other  self,  her  ideal,  which  haunted  her  with 
its  dim  possibilities  of  beauty  and  power. 

The  Club  was  learning  to  deal  with  many 
a  social  problem  by  discussing  proverbs,  — 
such  as  "  Paddle  your  own  canoe ; "  "  He 


92  MISS   CURTIS. 

who  holds  the  ladder  is  as  bad  as  the  bur 
glar  ; "  "If  you  let  them  lay  the  calf  on 
your  back,  they  '11  soon  slap  on  the  cow." 
They  applied  these  mottoes  to  their  own  cir 
cumstances  and  to  newspaper  occurrences. 
More  than  once  had  Owen  and  his  comrades, 
outside  the  transom,  unconsciously  stopped 
to  think  of  the  confused  condition  of  things 
in  which  the  concerns  of  one  is  neither  ex 
clusively  the  affair  of  himself  alone^  nor 
necessarily  the  affair  of  all. 

Olive's  personal  labors  were  chiefly  de 
voted  to  the  child  who  poetized  on  the 
saints  and  the  angels.  She  thought  he  was 
not  sufficiently  healthy-minded,  for  he  was 
constantly  in  fear  of  doing  what  was  wrong. 
In  spite  of  her  praise,  his  own  self-estimate 
was  so  despairing  that  once,  when  they 
were  alone  together,  she  ventured  to  re 
mind  him  of  the  beatitude  about  "  the 
poor  in  spirit."  He  started,  exclaiming, 
"  It  is  all  wrong,  Miss  Olive,  you  don't 
know  nothing  about  it ;  being  lowly  and 


THE   CLUB.  93 

humble-minded  is  just  being  in  hell.  I 
wish  I  could  be  conceited,  then  I  should 
be  happier." 

The  room  in  which  the  meetings  were 
held  gave  indications  of  its  owner.     Her 
bureau  had  a  clear  space  on  one  side  of  the 
enormous  pincushion,  where  she  laid  her 
German   grammar   or   her   geometry   that 
she  might  study  while  dressing.     On  the 
be-ribboned  structure  were  stuck  all  kinds 
of    pins,  —  scarf-pins   of    an   old   English 
watch-cock  and  an   Indian  arrow-head,  of 
a  bird's  claw  and  a  silver  wing;   bonnet- 
pins  of  a  moonstone  and  a  rhinestone,  of 
an  enamelled  pansy  and  a  jewelled  butter 
fly.     A  blue  wedgwood  spike,  one  of  Miss 
Curtis' s  gifts  from  her  family  estate,  was 
laden  with  bracelets  of  diminishing  width,  — 
bangles  of  hooks  and  eyes,  of  spiral  springs, 
of  jingling  oxidized  medallions,  which  told 
the  story  of  the  "  house  that  Jack  built." 
Her  looking-glass  was  wreathed  with  pho 
tographs   of   her  friends.      On   her  table 


94  MISS   CURTIS. 

stood  upright  sheets  of  Japanese-silk-cov 
ered  pasteboard,  with  circles,  oblongs,  and 
squares  cut  into  it,  which  framed  the  faces 
of  those  for  whom  she  cared  little.  Her 
work-basket  was  very  small,  with  some 
fine  cambric  in  it  for  her  father's  cravats ; 
it  looked  like  a  previous  bonbonniere. 

Her  desk  was  large  and  antique,  full  of 
cubby-holes  filled  with  paper  and  envel 
opes  of  every  kind,  from  the  stylish,  heavy, 
plain  sort,  with  her  address  stamped  in 
straight  red  letters,  to  the  ragged-edged 
parchment  with  its  spreading  monogram. 
Over  her  mantel-piece  was  the  photograph 
of  Miiller's  Madonna, — the  ideal  she  wished 
to  help  some  one  else  to  realize,  as  it  was 
beyond  her  personal  reach. 

If  Olive  had  been  less  healthy  or  less 
brave,  her  longings  for  her  ideal  might 
have  made  her  morbid  or  sentimental ;  as 
it  was,  she  lived  in  a  home  where  action 
bore  an  equal  part  in  life  with  thought. 
She  had  learned  to  have  patience  and  trust, 


THE   CLUB.  95 

and  to  wait  for  old  age  or  immortality  to 
assure  the  daily  strivings  of  her  girlish 
heart. 

Her  abounding  faith  in  immortality  as 
the  outgrowth  of  necessity,  as  the  perfect 
flower  of  freedom,  was  the  most  beautiful 
part  of  the  girl's  life.  She  was  so  sure  of 
it.  It  gave  her  infinite  comfort.  It  made 
her  triumphantly  happy.  It  enabled  her 
to  make  others  contented ;  not  that  she 
talked  of  it,  but  that  they  caught  its  in 
spiration  from  her  bright  voice,  her  spring 
ing  step,  the  pretty  toss  of  her  head.  All 
was  life,  forever  life,  with  her.  Even  her 
brother's  conventionality,  that  now  warped 
him,  mellowed  in  her  thought  into  the  arch- 
angelic  grace  of  heaven,  which  would  make 
him  tender  to  the  little  boys  dying  in  the 
public  schools. 


CHAPTER    XL 

EARNESTNESS. 

MR.  KIMEN  and  Olive  could  not  agree. 
He  was  always  earnest ;  life  was  a  serious 
thing  with  him. 

"Will  you  go  to  the  theatre  with  me  ?  " 
he  begged  of  her;  for  he  acknowledged  that 
the  stage  had  a  moral  mission  of  its  own  to 
fulfil. 

"  What  to  see  ? "  inquired  Olive,  eva 
sively. 

"  Would  it  not  be  a  good  plan  to  see 
'  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin/  that  we-  might  real 
ize  what  were  the  horrors  of  slavery,  and 
feel  the  grandeur  of  those  men  who  fought 
against  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  she,  "  I  won't.  I  don't  go 
to  the  theatre  as  'a  good  plan,'  but  for  fun. 
Will  you  go  to  'lolanthe  '  ?  " 


EARNESTNESS.  97 

"  Pardon  me ;  but  except  for  the  pleasure 
of  being  with  you,  could  not  the  time  be 
spent  in  some  better  way  ?  Have  you  a 
headache  ? "  he  added  as  he  saw  her  put 
her  hand  over  her  forehead. 

"  Do  you  always  take  things  so  in  earn 
est  ? "  asked  Olive,  merrily.  "  I  just 
wanted  to  keep  my  waves  in  place,  the 
wind  blows  so,  and  I  used  up  my  last  bit 
of  lace." 

"  '  Waves  '  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Kimen, 
looking  in  every  direction. 

"  Oh,  you  never  were  a  girl,  you  never 
had  a  sister,"  she  returned  almost  contemp 
tuously  ;  but  changing  into  the  tone  of  mock 
solemnity  she  often  adopted  with  him,  she 
added,  "  yes,  waves,  —  water-waves  of  my 
hair." 

He  supposed  he  had  made  a  mistake,  but 
how  was  it  possible  when  life  was  so  real ! 
Yet  he  had  begun  to  recognize  that  it  was 
very  difficult  to  keep  his  mind  on  institu 
tions  when  Olive  was  also  in  his  thoughts. 
7 


98  MISS   CURTIS. 

Unconsciously  she  was  showing  him  the 
futility  of  his  deductions.  Neither  of  them 
went  to  the  theatre.  Each  was  annoyed  at 
the  other's  dramatic  preference. 

In  Mrs.  Cadwallader's  presence  Mr.  Ki- 
men  felt  soothed.  He  was  the  son  of  an 
old  friend  of  hers.  His  mother  had  been 
one  of  those  women  who  are  always  put 
ting  off  their  sons  to  a  convenient  tune  be 
cause  of  housework.  When  honors  were 
not  added  to  his  college  degree,  she  felt  de 
frauded  of  her  right  to  his  distinction  as 
her  son.  He  had  passed  his  four  years 
trusting  that  at  their  end  he  should  know 
what  he  wanted  to  do ;  believing  that 
meanwhile,  by  not  having  a  fixed  purpose, 
his  view  of  education  would  be  broadened. 
After  his  graduation  he  hovered  in  choice 
between  the  ministry  and  the  pursuit  of 
sociology.  He  much  preferred  being  a 
civic  missionary  to  any  perils  of  foreign 
cannibalism ;  but  he  also  considered  that 
the  religion  of  the  future  embraced  the 


EA  RNES  TNESS.  99 

propagation  of  political  economy.  He  must 
study  humanity  before  divinity. 

His  father  became  impatient  with  his 
sincere  indecision,  and  sent  him  off  on  a 
ranch,  hoping  that  in  out-of-door  life  his 
spasmodic  enthusiasms  would  become  prac 
tical.  Established  there,  he  had  spent 
more  time  arguing  with  cow-boys  on  the 
perversity  of  the  will  and  the  power  of  kind 
ness  over  cattle,  than  was  profitable  for  his 
business.  The  snowy  peaks  of  the  Sierras, 
the  inaccessible  gorges,  and  the  nestling 
clouds  had  wrought  upon  his  dreamy  pur 
poses,  until  he  longed  to  go  back  to  the 
cities  and  bring  the  people  up  to  visions 
of  human  loveliness,  if  not  of  mountain 
grandeur. 

The  power  of  language  was  borne  in 
upon  him ;  he  stumbled  in  its  utterance, 
for  his  thought  was  less  clear  than  his 
general  intentions.  He  had  not  physical 
strength  to  win  the  triumphs  of  a  plat 
form  orator.  He  relied  on  unseen  spiritual 


100  JlflSS   CURTIS. 

forces  to  rouse  the  consciences  of  a  parish. 
He  had  become  that  uncomfortable  product 
of  himself,  —  a  dead-in-earnest  man. 

When  away  from  Olive,  he  was  very  anx 
ious  that  she  should  develop  properly 
(he  had  no  idea  what  he  meant,  but  the 
phrase  strengthened  his  desire).  When 
with  her,  he  was  conscious  of  his  own  out- 
ward  defects,  and  that  she  never  had  time 
to  become  aware  of  his  inward  purposes. 
Once  in  the  pulpit,  however,  he  might 
be  able  to  help  her ;  which  he  ventured 
to  intimate  one  Sunday  morning  as  they 
walked  to  church. 

If  he  had  expressed  this  hope  in  the  early 
days  of  their  acquaintance,  Olive  could  not 
have  understood  him.  For  a  long  time 
she  had  seen  him,  at  first  daily  and  then 
weekly,  for  he  had  gone  to  a  neighboring 
Divinity  School;  now  she  had  begun  to 
comprehend  the  moral  earnestness  of  the 
man,  —  so  comically  like  her  own,  so  differ 
ent  in  its  want  of  vivacity.  Therefore  she 


EARNESTNESS.  101 

answered  quietly,  trying  to  suppress  her 
amused  indignation:  — 

"  You  think  sermons  reach  us  girls !  It 
is  partly  so,  but  it  is  more  the  '  extempore 
listening'  we  do,  as  Mr.  Fordher  calls  it. 
Some  sentence  hits  us  and  off  we  go  on  our 
own  thoughts,  which  are  like  small  shot  in 
the  way  they  take  the  conceit  out  of  us. 
The  ministers  start  it,  but  we  do  the  rest." 

"  According  to  you,  you  could  easily  get 
along  without  us !  Of  what  use  are  we  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Kimen,  despairingly. 

Olive  almost  stopped  on  the  muddy 
street-crossing.  It  was  so  vexing  to  talk 
to  a  man  who  gave  a  personal  bearing  to 
things  by  his  tones  if  not  by  his  words. 

"  '  Use? ' "  she  exclaimed.  "  Why,  a  real 
minister,  who  is  better  than  we  are,  who 
is  elegant  and  powerful  in  his  manners, 
and  who  has  got  the  soul  of  the  world  in 
him,  and  can  bear  the  burden  of  the  na 
tions,  and  take  it  away  like  the  paschal 
lamb  from  wearing  out  the  rest  of  us, — 


102  MISS  CURTIS. 

why,  he  is  like  Browning  and  the  Bible 
put  together,  and  we  grow  better  every 
minute,  and  —  " 

She  paused,  for  they  were  near  the 
church  door.  When  would  she  ever  learn 
to  express  herself  properly  and  not  say  too 
much,  she  thought  as  she  took  her  seat  in 
the  pew.  Mr.  Kimen  felt  encouraged ;  he 
had  read  "  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra  "  to  her  the  other 
evening,  and  she  had  embroidered  all  the 
time. 

Mr.  Kimen  had  become  a  great  favorite 
with  Miss  Curtis,  or  rather  he  was  a  favor 
ite  study  of  hers.  She  perhaps  felt  a 
tenderness  toward  him.  He  was  genu 
inely  good,  and  it  refreshed  her.  She  gave 
him  a  great  deal  of  crisp  advice,  which  hurt 
his  feelings  but  ought  to  benefit  him. 

Miss  Curtis  seldom  went  to  church  since 
exchanges  had  gone  out  of  fashion.  In 
the  first  years  of  Mr.  Cadwallader's  settle 
ment  she  had  been  a  regular  attendant ; 
but  having  learned  the  general  trend  of 


EARNESTNESS.  103 

his  ideas,  the  novelty  of  hearing  him  wore 
away.  Every  Sunday  morning  he  sent  her 
his  text,  upon  which  she  meditated  from 
the  point  of  view  she  assumed  he  would 
take,  and  from  her  own.  In  the  after 
noon  she  sewed  for  poor  children.  It  had 
become  a  custom  for  Olive  to  break  the 
silence  and  monotony  of  Miss  Curtis' s  Sab 
bath  by  lunching  with  her;  Mr.  Cadwal- 
lader  was  thus  enabled  to  take  a  long 
spiritual  nap,  while  his  wife  enjoyed  the 
two  hours  of  absolute  freedom  it  gave  her ; 
in  which,  with  curtains  drawn  and  door 
locked,  she  fondly  pored  over  her  bureau 
drawers. 

They  lived  directly  opposite  to  Miss  Cur 
tis.  In  the  earlier  years  of  their  residence 
they  were  under  the  constant  constraint  of 
that  lady's  inspection.  Life  moves  in 
grooves  everywhere,  and  Miss  Curtis  had 
grown  to  know  what  ought  to  happen  at 
each  hour,  even  if  it  did  n't,  so  that  her  vigi 
lance  was  relaxed.  When  she  perceived  that 


104  MISS   CURTIS. 

Mr.  Kimen's  presence  at  the  Cadwalladers' 
was  likely  to  become  as  regular  as  the  Sab 
batical  recurrence  of  baked  beans  and  brown 
bread,  she  decided  that  it  was  best  for  him 
to  lunch  with  her  on  that  day,  but  at  a 
different  hour  from  Olive's  visit  to  her. 
This  arrangement  was  full  of  peculiar  sat 
isfaction  to  her,  for  it  gave  her  more  to 
do  and  hear,  and  also  the  pleasure  of  feel 
ing  that  it  annoyed  Mr.  Kimen,  who 
hoped  each  week  to  meet  Olive  there  and 
every  time  was  disappointed.  She  enjoyed 
watching  him  wander  through  the  long 
rooms  and  entries,  his  expectant  look 
when  the  doors  creaked,  and  the  change  on 
his  face  when  the  waitress  entered.  Under 
Olive's  influence  she  had  given  up  all 
malignancy  to  such  an  extent  that  this 
harmless  chance  to  revert  to  her  old  way 
of  planning  disappointment  for  people  was 
clutched  by  her,  much  to  Olive's  delight 
in  this  case. 

Miss  Curtis  also  enjoyed  contrasting  her- 


EARNESTNESS.  105 

self  as  she  was  with  Olive,  with  what  she 
was  with  Mr.  Kimen.  It  was  like  holding 
a  reception  with  herself.  With  him,  she 
was  aphoristic  and  advisory;  with  the 
girl,  she  was  confidential  and  submissive. 
She  always  had  some  feminine  delicacy  for 
Olive  which  she  denied  him.  At  one  of 
their  favorite  repasts  of  Scotch  marmalade 
and  Irish  moss  blanc-mange,  the  conver 
sation  strayed  back  to  the  former  days  of 
their  neighborhood  acquaintance. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  Olive,  "  your 
first  call  on  mamma,  when  you  asked  her 
why  so  many  young  ladies  came  to  the 
house  Wednesdays,  and  so  many  old  ladies 
Tuesday  afternoons?  She  explained  to 
you  that  they  were  papa's  Bible  classes. 
Then  in  that  funny,  questioning  way  of 
yours  of  stating  a  fact  when  you  really 
don't  know  anything  about  it,  you  told 
her  papa's  fees  must  be  considerable,  as  so 
many  missionary-looking  men  and  women 
came  to  be  married  on  Thursdays.  Mamma 


106  MISS  CURTIS. 

said  they  were  sewing-circle  people,  don't 
you  remember  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  child.  I  recollect  it  well 
enough.  Do  you  know  what  next  I  asked?" 

Olive  shook  her  head. 

"  "Well,  I  remarked  to  your  mother  that 
she  did  a  good  deal  of  sewing  for  one  with 
a  weak  back.  She  apologized  by  saying 
she  had  a  machine.  It  really  was  n't  any 
excuse,  for  she  ought  to  have  done  less  if 
she  had  a  machine  ;  but  some  women  are 
such  females !  "  Miss  Curtis's  foot  tapped 
the  floor  vexatiously.  "  I  did  n't  like  her 
answer,  and  thought  she  had  best  know  in 
the  beginning  how  I  felt ;  so  I  just  went  on 
and  told  her  that  it  was  a  good  thing,  —  it 
saved  salary,  making  her  husband's  shirts, 
but  that  she  ought  n't  to  stop  at  the  bosoms ; 
that  I  had  noticed,  —  that  is,  I  had  seen 
through  the  windows,  —  that  she  bought 
them  all  stitched.  Do  you  know,  I  got  a 
new  pair  of  glasses  just  to  find  that  out. 
Did  n't  your  mother  tell  you  ?  " 


EARNESTNESS.  107 

Again  Olive  shook  her  head. 

"  I  suppose,"  returned  Miss  Curtis,  "  that 
she  did  not  think  it  ladylike  in  me  to  do 
it,  nor  in  her  to  tell  of  it.  Are  you  going 
to  be  ladylike  and  lose  your  identity  ? 
Ladies  always  have  to  give  it  up." 

"  Never,"  said  Olive  with  a  shudder. 

"  Salaried  people  have  to  be  ladylike. 
Marry  an  income,  Olive,  not  a  salary,  then 
you  can  do  as  you  choose  in  manners.  I 
always  did  advise  your  mother,  but  it  is  all 
along  of  a  piece  with  my  telling  her,  when 
she  was  going  to  have  her  first  convention 
to  tea,  that  she  'd  find  lobster  salad  went 
further  than  chicken  salad,  'cause  most 
people  did  n't  eat  it ;  and  she  went  and 
had  salmon  salad !  I  make  up  for  it  now, 
when  I  —  " 

"Is  it  you,"  said  Olive,  as  a  flash  of 
illumination  darted  through  her  mind,  — 
"you  always  made  us  think  it  was  some 
one  else,  —  but  is  it  you  who  send  us  a  big 
dinner  every  Anniversary  week?" 


108  MISS   CURTIS. 

Miss  Curtis  nodded  and  snapped  her 
eyes. 

"  Yes,  it 's  I ;  for  when  I  saw  that  your 
father  didn't  invite  cathedral  preachers 
only,  but  took  the  country  ones,  who  are 
sent  to  the  Legislature  and  who  know  a 
potato  from  a  sermon,  and  that  he  fed 
them  on  veal,  which  is  particularly  de 
pressing  meat,  I  was  afraid  his  salary  could 
not  afford  cheerful  food ;  so  I  told  the 
butcher  to  send  him  salmon,  a  sirloin, 
asparagus,  and  strawberries,  enough  for  a 
collation,  the  last  Friday  of  every  May." 

"What  would  you  have  done,  aunt,  if 
you'd  been  a  woman  minister  and  had  a 
salary?" 

"  I  'd  only  have  been  one  when  I  'd  had 
a  fixed  income  from  telephone  stock.  A 
salary  from  people's  liking  you,  eked  out 
by  wedding  fees  from  grooms  who  don't 
know  the  minister,  but  whose  brides  go  to 
Bible  classes,  and  by  appreciative  funeral 
fees  from  the  family  because  the  deceased 


EARNESTNESS.  109 

liked  you,  is  the  miserablest  kind  of  inde 
pendence.  Olive,  there  is  Mr.  Kimen 
crossing  the  street;  he  has  been  to  your 
father's  in  nap-time,  and  he  is  coming  here 
ten  minutes  before  his  hour.  He  has  seen 
you  at  the  window ;  now  just  go  out  and 
home  the  back  way  as  fast  as  you  can. 
He  '11  be  out  of  sorts ;  but  I  can't  have  my 
house  a  providential  propinquity  for  you 
two." 

"  Aunt  Curtis,  he 's  dreadful,  he  is  so 
good.  He  makes  me  feel  like  a  sermon. 
Jac-mamma  calls  him  an  over-fatigued 
conscience." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MAKING   FIRES. 

Miss  CURTIS' s  days  were  full.  She  rose 
early  and  made  her  matinal  cup  of  broma 
herself,  in  an  old-fashioned  aetna,  for  she 
abominated  the  modern  kerosene  toilet 
cooking-stoves,  or  lamps.  Then  she  busied 
herself  with  her  immense  correspondence. 
Her  writing-table  was  not  cumbered  with 
that  useless  bric-a-brac  which  indicates 
society  letter-writing.  Her  father's  ink- 
horn,  a  bunch  of  quill  pens,  a  sharp  heavy 
penknife,  and  a  piece  of  cloth  for  a  pen 
wiper  were  its  accessories.  On  the  table 
rested  two  plain  walnut  cases  of  shelves 
for  letters  and  papers,  labelled,  "  Beggars," 
"  Pedlers,"  "  Townspeople,"  "  Strangers," 
"Friends,"  "Business,"  which  showed  the 
variety  of  her  work. 


MAKING  FIRES.  Ill 

Beggars  were  people  who  asked  for 
money  without  regard  to  the  propriety  of 
the  request.  Pedlers  were  those  who 
offered  some  feeble  exchange,  like  a  triple 
mortgage  on  a  run-out  farm,  or  a  third  of 
the  proceeds  of  some  patent  concerning 
which  there  was  already  a  lawsuit,  for  the 
bounty  which  it  was  assumed  she  would 
bestow.  The  alternative  of  choice  was  not 
vouchsafed  her. 

She  made  her  own  investments,  and  only 
had  recourse  to  brokers  as  a  necessity  be 
tween  her  and  exchange  of  stocks.  She 
relied  upon  her  own  knowledge,  justified 
by  newspaper  reading;  and  certainly  she 
was  as  well  informed  as  many  of  those  who 
purchase  a  seat  at  the  brokers'  board. 

She  never  worked  in  any  organization. 
She  called  committees  bags  of  wind,  time- 
wasting  contrivances,  and  was  too  afraid 
of  her  temper  to  expose  herself  to  the 
trying  personal  experiences  which  work 
with  others  necessitates.  People  were  too 


112  MISS   CURTIS. 

afraid  of  her  peculiarities  to  ask  her  to  be 
president  of  anything ;  but  there  was  not  a 
society  in  town  which  had  not  desired  her 
name  as  vice-president. 

"  They  want  me  to  leave  them  some 
thing,"  she  said  to  Olive.  "  If  it  were  n't 
for  the  annual  subscriptions,  I  'd  join  them 
all  and  leave  them  nothing.  They  would 
cure  their  disappointment  by  holding  fairs." 

Miss  Curtis's  aid  was  given  to  individuals 
on  grounds  of  personal  knowledge.  If  occa 
sionally  deceived,  her  examination  of  the 
next  petitioner  was  severer.  It  was  her 
favorite  declaration  that  she  had  never 
helped  a  girl  to  get  an  education  who  was 
limber  in  mind  or  body  and  threatened  to 
break  down. 

"  Mathematics  and  clear-starching,"  she 
asserted,  "  don't  go  together  any  more  than 
light  housework  and  schools  of  oratory.  It 
is  all  folly,  —  working  your  passage  when 
you  are  getting  an  education.  Girls  in 
my  day  were  educated  to  be  missionaries  or 


MAKING  FIRES.  113 

mothers ;  now  they  are  taught  to  take  in 
dramatic  expression  and  write  parlor  lec 
tures,  when  encyclopaedias  are  as  common 
as  Bibles." 

At  ten  o'clock  Miss  Curtis  was  ready 
to  receive  calls  from  beneficiaries ;  after 
lunch  she  walked,  read,  and  slept ;  in  the 
evening  she  visited  the  families  of  those 
whom  she  helped.  She  could  judge  better 
of  human  nature  in  the  dishabille  of  home 
life  than  in  the  dress  uniform  of  shop  or 
factory  existence.  Besides,  men,  if  there 
were  any,  were  then  likely  to  be  about ; 
and  she  never  thought  she  knew  a  woman 
until  she  had  observed  her  ways  with  a 
man.  She  frequently  took  little  journeys 
to  compare  the  results  of  her  own  investi 
gations  with  the  letters  she  received  peti 
tioning  for  her  kindness.  She  would  have 
made  an  invaluable  State  Visitor  on  the 
Commission  of  Lunacy  and  Charity;  for 
she  had  been  known  to  ride  all  night  that 
she  might  arrive  at  some  village  as  the 

8 


114  MISS   CURTIS. 

sun  was  rising,  and  surprise  a  beneficiary 
farmer  doing  his  chores  as  he  ought,  or 
else  find  him  unpunctual  for  the  lowing 
cows. 

One  morning  Olive  found  her  unusually 
annoyed.  "  What  is  the  matter,  aunt  ?  " 
she  questioned. 

"Because  people  can't  see  when  they 
should  get  out  of  a  scrape.  As  if,  after 
forty  years  of  studying  character,  I  am 
going  to  give  in !  It  all  comes  from  that 
philandering  Jane.  She  knew  my  terms, 
and  she  ought  to  have  laid  them  down  to 
him  herself  ;  but  she  told  her  man  to  come 
and  see  me.  I  sha'  n't  budge  one  inch  ;  he 
has  got  to  do  it,  or  they  '11  have  none  of 
my  money." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  a 
well-dressed  mechanic  entered,  rather  sleek 
in  appearance,  as  if  just  out  of  the  barber's 
hands. 

Miss  Curtis  became  stern. 

"The  top  of   the  morning  to  you  this 


MAKING  FIRES.  115 

swate  day ;  and  it  is  mesel  that  hopes  I  am 
not  intruding,"  said  he. 

"It  is  time  some  folks  were  at  work, 
sir,"  returned  Miss  Curtis. 

"  An'  shure  it 's  my  boss  is  swearing  for 
me  now  ;  but  as  we  wants  to  be  married  to 
night,  I  just  made  bold  to  call  on  your  lady 
ship  now,  by  your  swate  lave." 

"  What  prevents  you?"  asked  Miss 
Curtis,  grimly. 

"  An'  shure,  my  lady,"  continued  he, 
blandly,  —  "an'  shure 't  is  to  yersel  we  were 
looking  for  the  rint  of  the  little  house  and  the 
pigsty ;  an'  shure  it 's  Jane  will  be  bringing 
you  such  swate  milk  ;  an'  shure  —  " 

"  I  want  none  of  your  goings  on,"  inter 
rupted  Miss  Curtis.  "  She  told  you,"  said 
the  lady,  pointing  to  Jane,  who  stood  sheep 
ishly  in  the  doorway,  "  that  if  you  look 
to  me  for  the  rent,  you  've  got  to  follow 
my  rules  and  make  the  fire  every  morning, 
winter  and  summer,  before  you  go  to  your 
work.  None  of  my  girls  can  marry  a  man 


116  MISS   CURTIS. 

who  won't  promise  that ;  for  if  the  laziness 
is  in  him,  this  will  take  it  out." 

"  An'  shure,  ma'am,  if  you  '11  let  me 
swear  it  by  your  lovely  sel',  I  '11  make  it 
every  morning ;  but  if  you  make  me  swear 
by  all  the  holy  saints,  it 's  mesel  as 
would  n't  like  to  take  such  liberties.  And 
thin,  Miss  Curtis,  my  old  'ooman,  as  is  one 
of  the  blessed  saints  now,  was  partickerly 
cross  about  the  lengths  of  wood  ;  and  Jane 
here  might  want  her  wood  two  fit  long 
'stead  of  three  fit  length." 

"  I  don't  see  what  wood  two  or  three  foot 
long  has  to  do  with  the  matter ;  all  -you 
have  got  to  do  is  to  put  it  in  the  stove  and 
make  it  burn,"  said  Miss  Curtis. 

"An'  shure,  ma'am,  it 's  yer  quick  sel' 
that 's  got  jist  to  the  pint  o'  ower  peck  of 
trouble.  Shure  as  you  are  alive,  ma'am,  I 
done  all  my  part  like  a  true  widower  that 
I  be,  an'  got  in  a  nice  set  o'  mortgagee 
furniture,  an'  they  bees  all  coming  to-night 
to  greet  her ;  and  when  shes  gets  the 


MAKING   FIRES.  117 

cooking-stove,  it 's  Saint  Patrick  himsel'  '11 
show  her  to  make  the  fire." 

"  Mortgaged  furniture  !  "  almost  screamed 
Miss  Curtis. 

"  An'  shure,  ma'am,  it 's  our  mootool 
wages  as  '11  pay  for  it.  We  jist  axes  you 
to  pay  the  rint,  and  thin  we  '11  settle  about 
the  wood  and  the  fire  our  two  sel's." 

"I  told  you,  Pat  Riley,  that  I  ain't  a 
going  to  buy  that  stove.  I  spent  all  I  set 
out  to,  and  cheerful  like  too,  and  that 's  an 
end  on  't !  "  exclaimed  Jane. 

"  My  fax !  if  yees  going  to  be  that  cross 
ower  a  kitchen  fire,  I  wouldn't  marry  yer, 
letting  alone  the  pig." 

"  Are  you  going  to  make  the  kitchen 
fire,  or  not  ?  "  demanded  Miss  Curtis. 

"  An*  faith,  ma'am,  you  pit  a  poor  fellow 
on  his  marriage  night  in  a  tight  place.  It 's 
mesel  as  would  do  that,  an'  more,  for  the 
sake  of  an  old  lady  like  yersel ;  but  when 
it  comes  to  doing  it  reg'lar  for  the  sakes 
o'  a  creeter  you  've  been  so  good  as  to 


118  MISS   CURTIS. 

marry,  be  jabbers !  I  don't  want  to  swear 
to  it." 

"  Go  along  wid  yer.  I  '11  send  for  my 
flour  and  things  to-night ;  you  sha  'n't  have 
me  nor  them.  I  'm  no  better  than  a  creeter  ! 
Go  'long,  I  tell  yer !  "  screamed  Jane. 

The  man  bounced  out  of  the  room. 
Jane  sat  down,  threw  her  apron  over  her 
head,  and  rocked  herself  back  and  forth, 
crying,— 

"  Oh  the  mean,  nasty  thing !  oh  the 
canting  Irishman  !  oh  the  deceitful  sweet 
heart  !  oh,  my !  oh,  land  !  oh,  Jerusalem — 
salem — em  !  " 

Miss  Curtis  walked  up  to  her,  pulled 
down  the  apron,  and  jerked  up  her  head, 
saying,— 

"  Jane,  you  are  a  fool  now.  You  would 
have  been  a  squaw  if  you  had  married  him. 
Go  home  and  send  for  your  flour." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

SNOBBISHNESS. 

OLIVE  was  not  faultless,  and  in  spite  of 
her  compassion  for  Miss  Curtis,  and  her 
appreciation  of  the  blue  depths  of  the  sap 
phire  ring  which  that  lady  had  given  her, 
there  were  times  when  she  inwardly  re 
belled  at  the  exercise  of  her  friend's  guar 
dianship.  It  seemed  as  if  her  judgment 
was  being  tested,  and  her  actions  weighed, 
with  a  view  to  future  results,  instead  of 
letting  each  trifling  event  be  its  own  jus 
tification.  Perhaps  it  was  because  Miss 
Curtis  was  very  lonely,  notwithstanding 
her  beneficence,  that  she  longed  to  expose 
her  threescore  years  and  more  to  the  con 
tagion  of  youth. 

In  her  mother's   presence  Olive  was  at 


120  MISS   CURTIS. 

ease.  With  her  she  could  differ,  argue, 
plead,  or  be  silent.  They  two  were  never 
afraid  of  being  on  the  brink  of  a  conflict,  — 
the  fear  that  disintegrates  friendship.  Yet 
both  of  them  recognized  that  their  mu 
tual  relations  were  undergoing  that  subtile 
change  by  which  alone  grown-up  children 
and  parents  can  live  together  freely. 

Now  that  Olive  was  partially  released 
from  fixed  hours  of  school  life,  she  found 
her  mother's  interpretation  of  being  "out 
in  society "  meant  having  time  to  do  for 
other  people.  Olive  thought  it  should  also 
include  having  time  for  one's  self,  and  for 
the  amenities  of  life.  There  were  many 
little  unaesthetic  appointments  of  the  house 
and  the  table  which  the  daughter,  as  she 
was  almost  "  out,"  wanted  changed,  and 
which  the  mother  wished  should  remain 
as  they  were,  in  virtue  of  her  husband's 
limited  income. 

"  Maggie  ought  to  wait  on  table  better," 
said  Olive.  "  It  is  part  of  the  contract." 


SNOBBISHNESS.  121 

"She  hasn't  time  to  do  everything," 
replied  Mrs.  Cadwallader. 

"  Well,  this  ought  to  be  done,  anyway. 
I  can  see  why  she  does  not  want  to  classify 
herself  with  a  white  cap,  but  I  don't  see 
why  she  can't  hand  the  plates,  instead  of 
our  helping  ourselves  across  the  breakfast- 
table.  I  could  get  more  out  of  her  than 
you  do,  if  you  would  only  let  me  try," 
reasoned  Olive. 

"  Because  you  must  have  occupation, 
must  I  lose  it?"  asked  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  Jac-mamma !  "  exclaimed  the  girl, 
throwing  her  arms  around  her  mother's 
neck,  "  I  don't  want  to  turn  you  out ;  but 
I  care  for  pretty  effects,  and  you  care  for 
philosophic,  long  views.  You  have  brought 
me  up  on  them ;  now  let  me  educate  you 
on  pleasing  trifles." 

"  Agreed,  if  you  leave  Maggie  time 
enough  for  the  laundry-work  of  your  broth 
er's  wardrobe ;  he,  too,  makes  modern  de 
mands  upon  his  home." 


122  MISS   CURTIS. 

"  That 's  like  you,  mamma  ;  you  always 
accept  the  inevitable.  Owen  and  I  are 
modern,  you  are  antique  simplicity ;  mod 
ern  life  is  so  complex  that  we  must  arrange 
for  division  of  forces." 

"A  mother's  puzzle  is  to  make  her 
daughter  greater  without  being  less  herself. 
Neither  your  self-respect  nor  mine  must 
increase  by  either  of  us  losing  respect  for 
the  other." 

"  Never  fear,  mamma  !  A  daughter  can 
only  grace  what  you  dignify." 

It  was  thus  that  conflict  between  the  two 
was  often  parried. 

The  aspect  of  the  home  did  change  in 
sensibly.  The  tall  haircloth  rocking-chair 
became  covered  with  plush,  though  it  stood 
in  the  way  just  as  much  as  ever.  An 
occasional  water-color  replaced  the  scrip 
tural  engravings  which  made  the  house  so 
suggestive  of  its  owner's  calling.  The  little 
reception-room  lost  its  prim,  committee 
look,  and  glowed  with  the  color  of  Madras 


SNOBBISHNESS.  123 

curtains  held  back  by  a  wealth  of  ribbon. 
The  dining-room  regulations  grew  more 
leisurely,  and  the  menu  acquired  a  less  semi- 
weekly  character. 

"  Mrs.  Cadwallader  seems  to  have  grown 
as  young-looking  as  her  daughter,"  said 
the  sewing-circle.  No  one  could  add  that 
the  child  had  grown  as  old  as  her  parent. 

Neither  mother  nor  daughter  ever 
planned  to  enjoy  the  companionship  of 
sewing,  the  rock  on  which  so  much  domes 
tic  happiness  founders.  That  little  phrase, 
"Bring  your  sewing  into  my  room  and 
let 's  talk,"  has  been  more  productive  of 
being  rubbed  the  wrong  way  than  of  any 
pleased  domestic  purring.  If  there  were 
sewing  to  be  done,  it  was  often  done  with 
each  other,  but  it  was  never  resorted  to 
as  an  expedient  for  enjoying  each  other's 
society. 

The  best  hours  of  the  intercourse  between 
Olive  and  her  mother  were  the  after-talks, 
when  "a  little  company"  was  over,  or 


124  MISS  CURTIS. 

the  girl  had  returned  from  dancing.  Olive 
learned  from  these  chats  that  the  most 
high-bred  tact  is  the  same  as  keen  sympa 
thy,  and  that  to  manage  people  is  the  art 
of  managing  one's  self ;  and  more  than  all, 
she  saw  that  the  old  proverb,  "  With  time 
and  patience  the  mulberry-leaf  becomes 
satin,"  teaches  the  gift  of  social  adjustment. 

As  a  matter  of  course  Olive  danced  well 
and  enjoyed  the  glide  polka  as  if  she  were 
wheeling  through  chaos  into  the  millen 
nium;  yet  she  had  never  forgotten  her  child 
ish  agonies  of  disappointment  at  her  own 
limitations.  They  made  her  now  on  the 
lookout  for  others  who  were  perched  on  the 
fence  of  self-consciousness,  and  endeavor  to 
bring  them  within  the  field  of  contentment 
and  self-forgetfulness. 

Next  to  making  a  forlorn  girl  happy,  she 
enjoyed  snubbing  a  presumptuous  youth. 

It  was  the  last  evening  of  the  subscrip 
tion  parties.  She  had  teased  the  dress 
maker  until  her  dress  fitted  without  a 


SNOBBISHNESS.  125 

wrinkle,  and,  starting  from  the  copse  of 
her  bustle,  fell  in  long,  willowy  lines 
around  her  feet.  She  wished  she  were  to 
have  some  one  else  than  Rob  Royce  for  a 
partner.  He  was  one  of  those  unfortunate 
fellows  to  whom  girls  will  not  engage 
themselves  beforehand,  but  whom  they  will 
accept  at  the  last  moment  if  they  can  get 
no  one  else.  In  a  spurt  of  generosity  Olive 
had  some  weeks  ago  promised  herself  to 
him  for  this  evening.  That  he  might 
prove  to  all  beholders  that  this  had  been  a 
prearranged  concession  on  her  part,  he  sent 
her  three  dozen  Jacqueminot  roses  at  fifty 
cents  apiece.  She  put  them  on  the  tea- 
table  as  a  centre  ornament,  and  left  them, 
there. 

The  german  had  begun,  when  Olive's 
quick  eye  perceived  a  stranger  sitting  alone 
most  of  the  time,  while  her  partner  indus 
triously  took  out  the  pretty  girls.  The 
new-comer  "was  economically  overdressed. 
Her  attire  at  once  excited  sympathy  and 


126  MISS   CURTIS. 

told  the  story  of  scant  means  and  maternal 
love,  and  the  endeavor  to  make  the  nar 
row  breadths  of  her  mother's  yellowish- 
white  wedding  gown  into  the  full  draperies 
of  the  present  day.  The  waist  was  so  tight 
that  it  looked  crabbed ;  the  skirts  were  so 
tight  that  they  resembled  a  Quaker  pin 
cushion.  Out  of  the  dress  rose  a  quiet, 
demure  little  face,  which  spoke  of  simple 
pleasures  and  honest  gratitude. 

"Who  is  that  girl?"  asked  Olive  of  her 
partner. 

"  It  is  a  Miss  Spark ;  she  is  not  in  our 
set,  you  know." 

"  How  did  she  come  here,  then  ?  Do  you 
know  her  ? " 

"  Hardly ;  I  just  met  her  once.  She  is  n't 
in  society." 

"  She  is  here,"  claimed  Olive. 

"  Oh,  it  is  some  one  Mrs.  Tory  has  taken 
up,  as  she  is  always  doing.  Society  is  so 
mixed,  you  know ;  such  girls  can't  expect 
to  have  anything  but  a  quiet  time,  even  if 


SNOBBISHNESS.  127 

Mrs.  Tory  gets  them  partners.  She  is  the 
matron,  and  is  such  a  *  swell'  herself  she 
can  afford  to  invite  any  one." 

"  That  is  an  advantage  most  of  us  lack," 
was  the  quick  response.  "  We  '11  take  her 
out  hi  the  naming  figure,  and  that  will  give 
you  a  chance  to  introduce  me." 

Koyce  looked  at  her  amazed,  but  the 
faint  twinkle  in  her  eye  reminded  him 
that  it  was  only  through  her  intercession 
that  he,  living  in  Charlestown,  had  been 
put  on  the  manager's  list.  Besides,  she  had 
not  carried  his  flowers.  She  might  have 
told  the  girls  about  them,  and  then  they 
would  laugh  at  him;  he  knew  it  was  not 
good  taste  to  have  sent  so  many,  only  he 
had  wanted  to  show  that  if  he  set  out 
to  do  a  thing  he  could  carry  it  through. 
Ought  he  to  mention  the  flowers,  and  say 
in  a  careless  tone  that  perhaps  she  pre 
ferred  Marechal  Neil  roses  ?  What  did 
fellows  do  who  were  not  brought  up  to 
that  kind  of  thing?  On  the  whole,  he 


128  MISS  CURTIS. 

concluded  it  was  wiser  not  to  allude  to 
them,  and  not  to  object  to  anything  Miss 
Cadwallader  wished. 

All  this  reasoning  had  lasted  no  longer 
than  the  gleam  in  her  eye,  when  he  bowed 
silently  and  led  her  up  to  Miss  Spark, 
introducing  her. 

"  Let  us  take  you  out,"  said  Olive  in  her 
easy  manner.  "  You  know  Mr.  Royce  must 
take  us  both  up  to  another  gentleman. 
"Which  will  you  be,  oranges  or  lemons  ? " 

"  Oranges,"  answered  Miss  Spark,  spring 
ing  up  in  delight. 

Royce  carried  them  to  Pat  Green,  who 
chose  lemons  and  whirled  off  Olive.  Royce 
took  a  short  turn  round  the  hall  with  Miss 
Spark,  and  conducted  her  to  her  seat  with 
gravity. 

Soon  after  Olive  took  a  second  young 
man  up  to  Miss  Spark.  When  the  little 
world  of  society  saw  that  the  one  of  un 
known  antecedents  had  met  with  recog 
nition,  all  the  rest  gladly  gave  it ;  soon 


SNOBBISHNESS.  129 

it  was  discovered   that   Miss   Spark's  an 
cestors  had  fought  at  Bunker  Hill. 

Olive  told  Miss  Curtis  about  the  incident. 
That  lady  indexed  it  in  her  note-book 
under  the  heading,  "  Snobs,"  as  a  guide  for 
her  judgment  in  case  Mr.  Royce  should 
ever  become  a  petitioner  for  her  alms 
giving,  or  she  should  read  about  him  in 
the  newspapers. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CONVENTIONALITY. 

BREAKFAST  was  late  the  next  morning, 
or  rather  the  meal  was  punctual  but  the 
family  were  irregular.  When  Owen  jerk- 
ingly  shoved  himself  into  the  room,  by 
going  first  to  the  right  and  then  to  the  left 
until  he  reached  his  seat,  he  found  his 
mother  opening  Olive's  egg  for  her,  —  one 
of  the  little  maternal  pretences  by  which 
Mrs.  Cadwallader  tried  to  realize  that  her 
daughter  had  not  grown  up.  The  folly  of 
such  a  delusion  irritated  the  boy,  and  fur 
nished  a  pretext  for  the  advice  which  he 
had  been  slowly  accumulating  to  hurl  at 
his  sister's  recklessness.  Helping  himself 
to  an  egg,  he  began, — 


CONVENTIONALITY.  131 

"I  should  think  girls  who  weren't  old 
enough  to  open  their  own  eggs,  need  not 
try  to  set  the  fashion  for  their  elders !  " 

Neither  Olive's  look  of  amused  serenity 
nor  his  mother's  air  of  indifference  was 
encouraging ;  yet  as  her  brother  it  was  his 
duty  to  warn  her. 

"You'll  get  yourself  disliked,  Olive,  if 
you  go  on  in  this  way." 

He  gave  his  egg  too  hard  a  crack  with 
his  knife,  and  the  yolk  fell  on  the  table 
cloth.  He  wiped  off  the  yellow  stain  with 
his  napkin,  rubbed  his  fingers  with  it, 
crumpled  it  up,  and  putting  it  with  a  slap 
on  the  table,  continued,  — 

"  "Why  can't  you  let  girls  alone,  and  not 
turn  a  party  into  an  asylum  for  incurables  ?  " 

"  Because  no  girl  ever  ought  to  be  con 
sidered  a  chronic  case  of  wall-flower.  There 
is  always  something  in  her,  if  you  '11  take 
the  trouble  to  find  it  out ;  and  as  for  Miss 
Stark,  she  dances  beautifully,"  answered 
Olive. 


132  MISS   CURTIS. 

"  I  see  you  know  what  I  mean,"  replied 
Owen  in  lordly  manner.  "  I  did  n't  get 
there  till  the  german  was  nearly  over,  so 
I  can't  judge  of  her  dancing;  but  one  of 
the  fellows  told  me  of  your  conduct,  and 
asked  if  you  were  trying  to  reform  the 
world.  I  hate  to  have  my  sister  spoken 
of  in  that  public  way." 

"Is  not  that  rather  a  strong  word?" 
asked  Mrs.  Cadwallader. 

"  Not  at  all.  It  is  all  very  well  for  girls 
to  be  charitable  and  work  fellows'  initials 
on  red  silk  handkerchiefs  to  be  made  into 
bedquilts,  but  I  do  hate  to  have  them  so 
reformatory  as  Olive  is." 

"  She  told  me  of  the  incident  about  the 
introduction  last  night,  —  if  that  is  what 
you  mean,  —  and  I  can  see  nothing  in  it 
but  the  courage  to  be  kindly,"  said  his 
mother. 

"  I  don't  doubt  that 's  all  Olive  meant," 
replied  Owen ;  "  but  she  is  always  doing 
unexpected  things  and  taking  up  such  un- 


CONVENTIONALITY.  133 

expected  people ;  and  yet  she  dislikes  free- 
and-easy  ways  as  much  as  any  one." 

"  Elegant  cordiality  is  my  motto,"  re 
turned  his  sister ;  "  you  would  be  such  a 
nice  jolly  fellow,  Owen,  if  you  were  not  so 
conventional." 

"  That 's  what  you  are  always  saying," 
he  retorted.  "I  tell  you,  one  can't  get 
on  without  it;  one  would  perpetually  be 
offending  people  if  one  were  not  con 
ventional." 

"And  I  should  constantly  be  offending 
myself  if  I  were,"  said  Olive. 

"And  I  think  you  might  have  some 
regard  for  my  feelings,  if  I  am  going  about 
with  you,"  declared  the  brother. 

"Owen,  you  spoil  yourself  by  being  so 
afraid  that  you  are  not  acting  according  to 
rule.  The  rules  you  take  are  founded  on 
fancied  necessities,  not  on  real  ones." 

"And  yours  are  founded  on  doing  as 
you  please,"  was  the  reply. 

"  On  doing  not  as  I  please,  but  as  will 


134  MISS   CURTIS. 

please  some  one  else ;  and  if  it  is  going  to 
hurt  some  one's  feelings  for  me  to  be  un 
conventional  with  them,  I  won't  be,  as  far 
as  that  person  is  concerned.  But  if  con 
ventionality  is  going  to  prevent  me  from 
being  kind  to  somebody  else,  why  then  I 
shall  be  unconventional,"  Olive  answered. 

"  The  danger  for  you,  Owen,"  said  his 
mother,  "  is,  that  in  your  desire  to  be  well- 
bred  you  are  forgetting  that  being  high 
bred  means  being  sympathetic.  You  take 
the  conventions  of  society,  which  are,  I 
grant  you,  bulwarks  of  defence,  and  shelter 
yourself  behind  them.  You  never  do  things 
which  you  ought  not  to  do.  But  to  guide 
your  actions  by  non-committal  of  yourself, 
instead  of  by  perception  of  the  subtile 
threads  which  relate  every  little  act  to 
some  great  principle  of  intuitive  morals 
or  eternal  realities,  is  being  befogged. 
Every  now  and  then  the  fog  lifts,  and  you 
see  the  headlands,  where  you  could  steer 
and  give  a  greeting ;  yet  while  you  are 


CONVENTIONALITY.  135 

drifting  that  way  the  fog  envelops  both 
you  and  the  point  for  which  you  were 
making.  You  may  be  safe,  but  you  have 
done  nothing." 

"  Oh,  Jac-mamma,  it  is  the  white  smother 
of  conventionality.  It  creeps  all  over  you, 
you  are  penetrated  with  it  before  you  know 
it ;  yet  it  is  so  pretty ! "  interrupted  the 
girl. 

"  Yes,  Olive ;  but  you,  on  the  other  hand, 
must  be  careful  to  remember  that  though 
the  misuse  of  conventionality  may  lead  to 
snobbishness,  and  though  in  itself  it  is  a 
question  of  the  expedient,  and  so  differs 
in  character  according  to  localities,  uncon- 
ventionality  can  become  repulsive.  Doing 
what  one  thinks  is  right,  without  regard 
to  the  form  in  which  it  is  done,  injures  a 
good  act.  Unless  you  can  beautify  it  with 
grace,  it  has  the  strength  and  none  of  the 
tenderness  of  freedom,  which  longs  to  make 
others  as  itself  is." 

Mr.  Kimen  had  entered  unobserved  by 


136  MISS   CURTIS. 

Mrs.  Cadwallader,  but  not  by  Owen,  who, 
as  usual  in  Mr.  Kimen's  presence,  felt  him 
self  judged  by  the  mere  force  of  contrast 
between  them.  He  therefore  bowed  to  him 
with  as  severe  a  dignity  as  his  youthful 
years  could  command,  and  with  a  nod  of 
commiseration  for  his  mother,  hastened 
from  the  room.  Olive,  too,  contrived  to 
leave  it  without  shaking  hands  with  the 
visitor,  who  in  his  turn  was  rather  con 
fused  at  finding  himself  in  the  position  of 
sole  respondent  to  Mrs.  Cadwallader.  In 
his  distress  he  uttered  the  very  thought 
which  was  often  in  his  mind,  but  which  he 
considered  unworthy  of  a  future  minister 
of  the  gospel,  who  should  be  welcome  at 
all  times  and  seasons,  —  "I  am  afraid  I  am 
in  the  way." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  replied.  "  One  is  always 
thankful  to  a  friend  who  interrupts  a  long 
sentence.  The  uses  of  conventionality  are  so 
much  more  apparent  than  its  insidiousness, 
that  I  often  find  myself  erring  by  talking 


CONVENTIONALITY.  137 

too  emphatically  about  its  evil ;  with  which, 
after  all,  one  may  never  be  infected." 

"  Does  being  in  earnest  about  things  pre 
vent  the  danger?"  asked  Mr.  Kimen. 

The  lady  busied  herself  with  her  teacups 
to  hide  her  expression.  She  felt  as  indig 
nant  with  him  for  his  overweening  earn 
estness,  as  she  did  with  her  son  for  his 
belittling  conventionality.  Recovering  her 
composure,  she  answered,  — 

"  Only  as  one  danger  is  avoided  by  in 
curring  another.  The  unseasoned  earnest 
ness  of  youth  has  its  own  perils." 

Mr.  Kimen  looked  troubled.  Was  he 
young?  Did  she.  mean  to  suggest  to  him 
a  change  in  heart,  or  in  manner  ?  He  could 
not  be  frivolous  in  either ;  he  might  never 
accomplish  anything,  but  at  least  he  must 
believe  in  his  own  earnestness. 

Olive  had  followed  her  brother  into  the 
hall.  With  no  consideration  of  his  feelings, 
she  asked  him  to  leave  a  package  for  her 
as  he  went  down  town.  The  bundle,  as  she 


138  MISS   CURTIS. 

held  it  up,  looked  like  a  charity  offering. 
He  hesitated.  He  always  wished  they  had 
a  man  to  do  errands,  as  had  other  people. 

"  I  could  roll  it  up  tight;  it  might  go  into 
your  bag,"  suggested  Olive,  demurely. 

"  Then  why  could  you  not  have  said  so 
in  the  first  place?  It  would  have  saved 
time/'  said  he,  his  countenance  lighting. 

"  Bring  home  some  fellow  to  dinner  with 
you,  won't  you?"  urged  his  sister  as  she 
squeezed  the  bundle  into  his  new  morocco 
bag  ;  "  you  know  such  nice  fellows." 

"  The  kind  I  like  don't  suit  you,"  was 
the  gruff  answer.  "You  want  the  home 
less  sort,  though  they  may  not  be  to  your 
taste.  You  are  always  trying  to  suit  both 
conscience  and  taste.  If  you  would  be  con 
tent  to  be  true  to  the  latter,  you  could  let 
alone  the  leadings  of  the  first." 

Olive  colored  a  little.  Owen  often  saw 
through  her  weaknesses,  though  he  failed 
to  comprehend  her  strength.  He  felt  his 
advantage  and  followed  it  up. 


CONVENTIONALITY.  139 

"  Girls  are  humbugs,  any  way.  They  are 
forever  asking  one  his  opinion  of  fellows, 
as  if  the  morality  of  the  universe  depended 
on  them." 

"  It  does,  Owen,  but  you  won't  see  it," 
replied  Olive,  almost  tearfully.  "  We  ask 
you  about  a  boy  or  a  man,  and  you  say  he 
is  a  good  fellow,  and  we  feel  he  is  n't.  You 
might  own  it,  merely  enough  to  justify  us  or 
to  put  us  on  our  guard.  You  call  it  honor 
not  to  say  anything  against  a  fellow,  even 
if  it  is  true  ;  that  is  what  makes  society  so 
dreadful.  We  girls  would  not  be  such  fools 
if  you  boys  were  truer  about  each  other; 
and  as  you  are  not,  we  can't  always  tell 
the  hay-fever  kind  from  the  other  kind." 

"  Olive,  you  are  a  dear  good  little  sister, 
but  I  have  seen  more  of  the  world  than  you 
have.  I  know  men,  and  you  had  better 
learn  to  endure  the  conventions  of  societ}' 
than  go  round  separating  the  chaff  from  the 
wheat,  and  deciding  upon  who  has  got 
hay  fever  and  who  has  been  on  a  lark." 


CHAPTER    XV. 

A   BOX. 

OWEN'S  perpetual  fear  of  committing 
himself  often  deprived  him  of  pleasure, 
though  it  kept  him  from  folly.  A  summer 
at  Narragansett  Pier  had  greatly  enlarged 
his  knowledge  of  girls.  There  he  had  met 
Dolly  Slater,  in  whom  he  became  absorbed 
as  far  as  it  was  prudent.  Pathetic  he  cer 
tainly  was,  for  he  spent  whole  mornings  in 
his  room  meditating  upon  her.  Yet  when 
winter  came  and  she  was  in  her  father's 
house,  he  delayed  calling  upon  her,  fearing 
that  the  old  man  would  speak  of  him  as 
one  of  my  "girl's  beaux." 

Dolly,  a  damsel  of  rising  fame,  had  often 
blushed  for  the  parental  homeliness  of 
phrase,  but  she  could  not  afford  to  be 


A    BOX.  141 

taken  up  and  put  down  again  by  a  mere 
minister's  son.  To  acknowledge  herself 
neglected  would  involve  the  failure  of  her 
vast  social  schemes.  She  prepared  ven 
geance.  She  began  by  bowing  to  him  for 
mally;  she  spoke  of  him  to  others  as  a 
summer  acquaintance,  as  an  amiable  boy 
useful  in  bringing  the  water  at  picnics. 
Her  remarks  reached  his  ears. 

When  this  had  been  effected,  she  gave  a 
small  german  on  purpose  not  to  invite  him. 
Her  mother  did  not  yet  dare  to  engage  a 
hall  for  this  purpose.  That  would  come 
a  year  or  two  later,  when  there  were  more 
calls  to  return.  Meanwhile  an  informal 
few  friends  just  in  their  own  parlor;  the 
furniture  pushed  back  carelessly;  an  im 
promptu  little  supper  of  birds  and  ices,  with 
menus  all  engraved,  —  would  be  recherche. 
The  affair  was  to  be  so  very  small  that  it 
got  talked  about,  and  many  watched  for 
invitations  who  did  not  receive  them.  The 
success  of  the  party  was  thereby  insured. 


142  MISS  CURTIS. 

Owen  regretted  his  caution,  especially  as 
his  use  of  propriety  equally  forbade  him 
to  say  anything  against  a  young  lady  or 
against  himself.  If  he  could  only  prove  to 
her  that  his  summer  fancy  for  her  had  arisen 
from  his  gregarious  habit  of  mind,  from  his 
general  inclination  for  any  pretty  girl,  and 
not  from  a  little  passion  for  herself,  except 
so  far  as  she  represented  her  sex,  he  could 
save  the  honor  of  his  set  from  being  tar 
nished  through  his  slight  acquaintance 
with  her.  It  must  be  done  by  manners,  not 
by  words,  which  would  commit  him.  He 
laid  his  plans.  The  next  Sunday,  after 
church,  when  all  the  world  walked  down 
the  avenue,  would  furnish  a  conspicuous 
occasion  for  his  polite  indifference. 

On  the  morning  of  that  day  he  sat 
far  back  in  church,  that  he  might  be 
sure  to  meet  Lura  Jenkins,  who  was  all 
the  fashion,  as  she  came  down  the  aisle. 
He  asked  permission  to  escort  her  home. 
This  accomplished,  they  soon  met  Miss 


A  BOX.  143 

Slater  coming  in  an  opposite  direction. 
Owen  saw  her  afar,  and  became  absorbed 
in  Miss  Jenkins,  stooping  forward  to  listen 
to  her  in  eager  fashion.  Then,  as  if  blinded 
by  an  interfering  cloud,  he  threw  back  his 
head,  beheld  Dolly,  who  had  almost  passed 
him,  quickly  turned  half  round,  pulled  off 
his  hat  as  if  he  would  not  on  any  account 
have  failed  to  observe  her,  and  re-swung 
himself  toward  Miss  Jenkins's  muff,  with 
its  knot  of  wild  roses. 

He  had  proved  to  his  own  satisfaction 
that  he  knew  how  to  be  a  gentleman. 
Miss  Slater's  annoyance  was  plainly  visible 
to  the  line  of  girls  whom  she  immediately 
met.  Olive,  who  had  seen  it  all,  was  with 
them.  Indignant  at  the  expedients  to 
which  social  pique  could  resort,  yet  with 
supreme  pity  for  any  girl  who  was 
snubbed,  she  left  her  companions  and 
joined  Dolly  Slater.  A  little  later  Miss 
Slater  parted  with  her  at  her  own  door, 
vowing  eternal  friendship  to  Olive  for 


144  MISS  CURTIS. 

thus  effectually  softening  the  poignancy 
of  the  studied  sarcastic  bow  bestowed 
upon  her.  Certainly  the  brother  must 
have  been  invited  to  the  party,  if  his 
sister  walked  with  Dolly,  reasoned  the 
spectators. 

Owen  came  home  wrathy;  he  did  not 
dare  again  to  reflect  on  his  sister's  conduct, 
for  he  felt  himself  immeasurably  little,  and 
he  could  not  afford  to  betray  his  mortifi 
cation.  He  went  to  his  room  and  upset 
things  generally,  which  is  always  an  effica 
cious  means  of  restoring  one's  own  balance. 
Wishing  still  further  to  compose  his  per 
turbed  spirit,  he  bethought  him  of  clearing 
out  his  closet.  Caressingly  he  smoothed 
his  dress-coat,  and  tried  to  efface  the  half 
inch  of  glistening  surface  on  each  side  of 
the  back  seams.  In  replacing  it  on  the 
shelf  (for  having  to  be  economical,  he  al 
ways  folded  his  suits),  he  stumbled  over  a 
box  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  vexation. 
To  find  that  his  coat  was  growing  shiny 


A    BOX.  145 

before  the  season  was  over,  and  then  to 
stub  his  toe,  was  humiliating. 

"  It  is  that  fellow  Kimen's  box,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  I  don't  see  why  father  need  take 
such  interest  in  these  half-fledged  minis 
ters.  Kimen  will  never  make  any  mark 
in  the  world.  Because  I  have  an  attic 
room,  the  box  is  stowed  away  up  here  to 
be  handy  to  the  skylight  in  case  a  fire 
breaks  out.  I  don't  believe  there  is  any 
thing  in  it  but  his  good  resolutions  and  his 
hopes  of  eternity.  There  !  I  won't  keep  it 
here  any  longer ; "  and  he  pushed  it  out 
of  the  closet. 

Unfortunately  the  closet  door  opened 
close  on  to  the  chamber  door,  and  that 
was  opposite  the  head  of  the  stairs,  there  be 
ing  but  a  narrow  entry  between  the  door  and 
the  staircase.  His  vigorous  thrust  sent 
the  box  out  of  the  closet  door,  out  of  his 
room  door,  down  the  stairs,  where  its 
farther  descent  was  barred  by  Mr.  Kimen's 

ascent. 

10 


146  MISS   CURTIS. 

Owen,  who  had  rejoiced  in  his  impersonal 
but  objective  punishment  of  Mr.  Kimen, 
was  now  shocked  to  find  that  that  gentle 
man  was  aware  of  it.  The  boy  stood  con 
fused  and  muttering  at  the  top  of  the  flight ; 
Mr.  Kimen  stood  midway,  one  foot  poised 
against  his  property,  his  grief  and  surprise 
showing  plainly.  The  noise  brought  up 
the  whole  family.  Olive  at  once  compre 
hended  the  train  of  reasoning  in  her  broth 
er's  mind  and  burst  into  peals  of  laughter, 
which  so  greatly  annoyed  Mr.  Kimen  that 
he  meekly  observed  that  he  didn't  see  any 
fun  in  the  occurrence. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  touch  the  pesky 
thing;  it  was  all  an  accident,"  apologized 
Owen.  "  I  was  just  thinking,  and  it  hap 
pened  to  be  in  the  way,  that  was  all." 

"  It  seems  my  box  is  as  much  in  the  way 
as  I  am  myself,"  replied  Mr.  Kimen. 

"  Not  at  all,  either  of  you  ;  it  is  a  pastoral 
hotel,  any  way,"  urged  Owen,  trying  to  be 
funny. 


A   BOX.  147 

Mr.  Kimen  grew  tired  of  acting  as  prop 
to  the  box,  and  changed  his  position.  This 
sent  it  rumbling  down  to  the  lower  entry, 
where  Olive  effectually  stopped  it  by  sitting 
down  upon  it. 

"  Take  it  as  a  joke,"  said  she.  "  It  is  not 
a  serious  matter ;  it  has  n't  any  moral  bear 
ings  ;  you  and  your  box  are  not  the  same." 

" '  Love  me,  love  my  dog/  "  returned  Mr. 
Kimen,  gravely. 

The  girl's  eye  flashed. 

"  Personalities  are  more  in  the  way  than 
boxes,  Mr.  Kimen,"  she  answered,  rising 
with  vexation. 

Owen's  better  nature  came  to  relieve  the 
growing  tragedy.  He  met  Mr.  Kimen,  who 
still  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  stairs,  and 
held  out  his  hand,  saying.  — 

"I  honestly  beg  the  box's  pardon,  and 
yours.  It  has  never  been  in  my  way  until 
five  minutes  ago ;  then  I  happened  to  hit 
it,  and  I  was  so  cross  with  something  else, 
which  occurred  as  I  was  walking  home 


148  MISS   CURTIS. 

from  church,  that  I  vented  my  vexation 
on  the  first  object  which  annoyed  me.  It 
is  a  huge  joke  on  me,  as  Olive  says.  I  rll 
have  the  box  back  in  a  trice." 

Before  Mr.  Kimen  had  time  to  answer, 
or  to  consider  what  to  reply,  Owen  had 
passed  him  and  shouldered  the  box  and 
borne  it  back  to  his  closet.  Olive  dis 
appeared,  and  Mr.  Kiinen  walked  slowly 
down  to  the  library,  pondering  upon  his 
wisest  course  of  action  concerning  the 
affair,  and  upon  Olive's  laughter,  which 
was  regardless  of  the  dignity  of  human 
nature. 

The  circumstance  was  soon  forgotten, 
save  as  it  was  now  and  then  referred  to 
in  the  annals  of  family  anecdotes. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

PANSIES. 

OF  course  Olive  told  the  incident  of 
Owen's  mishap  to  Miss  Curtis,  who  said : 

"  I  cannot  make  out  Mr.  Kimen.  I 
cannot  tell  whether  he  is  veneered  with 
earnestness,  or  whether  he  is  a  tough  pine- 
knot  which  will  make  a  blaze  in  the  world 
by  and  by." 

"I  wish  my  friends  did  not  so  often 
strike  me  as  possibilities,"  answered  Olive, 
thoughtfully. 

"Child,  you  could  not  endure  most  of 
them  if  you  did  not  look  at  them  in  that 
light." 

"  It  is  my  old,  childish  puzzle,  aunt ;  I 
have  given  up  wanting  to  be  somebody 
else,  and  just  take  myself  piecemeal,  day 


150  MISS   CURTIS. 

by  day;  but  I  have  not  yet  learned  how 
to  make  my  friends  over  into  what  they 
might  be." 

"  Most  of  us  can't  generate  our  own  oil, 
Olive ;  we  have  to  be  thankful  to  shine  by 
reflected  light.  If  the  angels  are  radiant 
with  it,  we  humans  must  be  content  to  be 
known  as  we  might  be.  Blessed  are  the 
child-makers  for  some  of  us." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  girl 
in  an  almost  frightened  tone,  for  she  never 
before  had  found  Miss  Curtis  pathetic. 

"Nothing,  child,  nothing;  people  grow 
either  sentimental  or  crabbed  in  their  old 
age.  I  have  tried  one  way  so  long  that 
I  thought  I  'd  try  the  other,  and  see  if  I 
could  fit  myself  to  a  halo  against  the  time 
I  might  need  it." 

"With  evident  effort  the  old  lady  turned 
the  conversation  into  its  usual  half-sar 
castic,  half-gossipy  vein,  and  Olive  had 
sufficient  tact  to  follow  her  lead.  From 
Miss  Curtis' s  crisp  way  of  thinking,  Olive 


PANSIES.  151 

was  learning  the  reality  that  inheres  in 
everything.  This  knowledge,  added  to 
her  mother's  opinions,  based  on  long  views 
and  the  relation  of  little  to  big,  was  giving 
her  a  very  comprehensive  heart  and  mind. 
Still,  she  could  not  free  herself  from  the 
notion  that  Miss  Curtis  was  shaping  her 
with  intent, — for  what,  she  could  not  divine. 
But  even  the  sense  of  being  wrought  upon 
for  the  benefit  of  an  unknown  quantity  could 
not  destroy  the  happiness  which  was  always 
welling  up  in  her  like  laughing-gas,  as 
Owen  termed  it. 

Miss  Curtis  and  Olive  were  sitting  by 
their  usual  seat  in  the  window,  but  Miss 
Curtis  was  not  observing  her  neighbors. 
Since  she  had  known  Olive,  her  curiosity 
about  other  people  had  lessened.  She  still 
indulged  herself  in  extraordinary  actions, 
and  maintained  a  strict  censorship  of  pri 
vate  judgment  over  the  feminine  and  ex 
plosive  communications  of  the  "Transcript." 
She  sent  imaginary  items  about  imaginary 


152  MISS   CURTIS. 

persons  to  the  Sunday  paper,  which  the 
editor  innocently  published.  However, 
after  her  sponge-cake-baby  party  of  years 
ago  she  had  ceased  to  mystify  children. 

"My  dear,"  said  she  once  in  answer  to 
the  entreaties  of  Olive  against  some  fresh 
oddity  of  hers,  "  I  must  keep  up  my  char 
acter  for  being  a  little  crazy,  or  I  shall  lose 
my  freedom.  I  must  have  occupation." 

But  this  morning  she  was  strangely 
silent.  She  had  grown  old  within  a  day 
or  two.  It  troubled  Olive.  The  girl  wished 
her  father  were  not  a  minister,  that  he 
might  have  time  to  call  on  Miss  Curtis. 
Was  her  friend  getting  ready  to  die  ?  Oh, 
if  she  would  only  tell  why  she  had  never 
married ! 

Olive  knew  little  about  the  lady's  early 
life,  except  that  she  had  not  lived  in  the  city, 
and  that  when  her  father  died  he  had  left 
a  large  sum  of  money.  This  was  to  be  ex 
pended  either  in  building  a  college  for  boys 
in  his  scattered  township,  way  down  by 


PANSIES.  153 

the  seashore,  or  its  income  was  to  be  used  by 
his  daughter  in  helping  women  to  get  mar 
ried,  —  provided  she  could  find  a  sufficient 
number  of  them  who  wished  to  be,  —  and  at 
her  death  she  was  to  dispose  of  the  prin 
cipal  as  she  chose. 

Miss  Curtis  had  taken  six  months  to  con 
sider  the  matter,  and  then  had  announced 
that  women  needed  marriage  more  than 
men  needed  education.  A  town-meeting 
had  been  called  to  remonstrate  against  her 
decision.  She  had  received  its  written  com 
munication  with  contempt,  had  torn  it  in 
little  pieces  and  returned  it  to  the  com 
mittee  who  had  waited  upon  her.  Then 
the  village  lawyer  had  been  employed  to 
find  a  flaw  in  the  will.  He  had  a  spinster 
daughter  whom  he  wanted  to  see  married 
before  he  left  her  alone ;  therefore  he  de 
cided  to  let  personal  interest  outweigh 
public  good.  He  would  neither  find  what 
did  not  exist,  nor  swear  away  the  old  man's 
sanity.  The  town  was  indignant.  It  had 


154  MISS   CURTIS. 

dreamed  of  a  red  brick  building  with  veran 
das  and  porticos ;  of  an  influx  of  summer 
boarders  and  consequent  rise  in  the  price  of 
butter  and  chickens.  It  refused  to  extend 
protracted  condolences  to  Miss  Curtis  ;  the 
church  held  a  series  of  prayer-meetings  to 
alter  her  decision  :  all  was  in  vain.  The 
will  had  been  properly  drawn,  executed,  and 
admitted  to  probate.  No  bonds  had  been 
required  of  her  as  sole  executrix ;  no  trus 
tees  had  been  appointed  for  her ;  to  no  one 
was  she  compelled  to  account  for  disposal 
of  income  or  principal.  She  rented  her 
house  and  farm,  and  left  the  town  amid 
the  execrations  of  her  neighbors. 

All  this  Olive  knew,  but  the  life  prior  to 
this  departure  and  a  few  years  after  it  were 
a  blank,  of  which  she  knew  nothing  and 
had  never  dared  to  ask.  Miss  Curtis  had 
finally  settled  in  Boston,  and  had  lived  in 
the  same  house  for  over  thirty  years. 

Her  way  of  living  had  at  first  attracted 
little  social  attention.  Bric-a-brac  dealers 


PANSIES.  155 

seemed  unaware  of  her  existence.  Grad 
ually  philanthropists  and  stock-brokers 
spread  the  impression  of  her  wealth  and 
eccentricities  among  their  wives,  who  re 
tailed  it  as  facts  which  their  husbands 
had  heard  at  the  club.  It  was  found  im 
possible  to  direct  the  channels  of  her  benefi 
cence,  or  to  persuade  her  to  take  any  one 
into  her  esteem  who  was  not  personally 
agreeable  to  her.  Into  her  confidence  she 
received  no  one. 

Miss  Curtis  had  an  intense  horror  of 
early  marriages,  which  she  considered  as 
whirlpools  and  quicksands  from  which  a 
safe  return  to  normal  happiness  was  impos 
sible.  She  despised  the  clerk  or  mechanic 
who  married  on  the  instalment  plan  and 
brought  his  bride  home  to  hired  furni 
ture.  It  was  tempting  Providence,  whose 
designs  for  the  future  were  inscrutable, 
but  which,  interpreted  by  future  poverty 
and  the  necessities  of  a  large  and  growing 
family,  indicated  disapproval.  On  the  other 


156  MISS  CURTIS. 

hand,  Miss  Curtis  respected  the  man  who 
invested  his  earnings  in  mortgages.  She 
advised  him  freely  and  showed  him  how  to 
watch  the  pecuniary  decadence  of  a  street 
from  the  door-plates  of  private  residences  to 
those  of  physician's  signs  ;  to  dental,  hygi 
enic,  and  physical  advertisements ;  to  paste 
boards  hanging  in  front  windows,  with 
"  Rooms  to  let "  inscribed  upon  them  in 
large  letters ;  and  the  final  transformation 
of  the  street  into  shops,  with  studios  to  rent 
above  them,  where  should  gather  the  maiden 
artists  of  society. 

Miss  Curtis  spent  her  income  in  various 
ways,  or  allowed  it  to  accumulate,  according 
to  the  needs  of  marriageable  women.  Oc 
casionally  some  of  the  principal  had  gone 
for  a  worthy  couple  whose  ideas  in  regard 
to  economy  and  a  small  family  she  ap 
proved.  Sometimes  it  was  merely  the 
trousseau  she  provided  for  the  bride,  or 
the  three  rooms  she  furnished  for  the  sim 
ple  home.  Oftener  than  any  other  way  it 


PANSIES.  157 

was  the  gift  of  a  sum  of  money  to  the 
woman,  but  in  trust ;  of  which  Miss  Curtis 
paid  over  the  income  regularly,  the  principal 
going  to  the  wife  at  the  time  of  Miss  Cur- 
tis's  death.  Again  it  was  a  loan,  of  which, 
when  it  was  all  repaid,  Miss  Curtis  would 
give  back  a  part  outright.  Her  clients,  as 
she  called  them,  were  scattered  far  and  wide. 
For  a  few  years  after  she  left  her  coun 
try  home  her  bitterness  toward  it  extended 
to  all  in  its  neighborhood.  When  at  last 
she  heard  of  a  young  man  who  was  dying, 
whom  one  of  the  village  girls  wished  to 
marry,  that  her  tenderness  might  befriend 
him,  Miss  Curtis  suddenly  sent  him  a 
check,  on  condition  that  he  died.  The 
gift  was  accepted,  with  the  guarantee  of  the 
sick  man  that  he  would  comply  with  its 
terms.  Either  joy  at  being  the  helpless 
instrument  by  which  his  wife  would  become 
a  widow  of  means,  or  else  her  loving  care, 
made  him  recover.  The  money  was  re 
turned  to  the  donor.  Miss  Curtis,  aston- 


158  MISS   CURTIS. 

ished  at  such  honesty,  placed  him  in  charge 
of  her  own  farm,  supplied  him  with  cod- 
liver  oil  and  pork  jackets  in  case  of 
relapse,  and  afterward  boarded  with  him 
and  his  wife  for  many  a  summer,  watch 
ing  his  health  and  his  early  vegetables. 
Gradually  her  rancor  at  her  townsmen 
was  appeased.  Whenever  she  discovered 
a  damsel  whose  heart  was  as  true  as 
her  physique  was  strong,  and  a  man 
who  loved  the  soil  and  oxen,  she  started 
them  in  domesticity. 

In  consequence  of  these  judicious  wed 
dings  and  a  railroad,  the  town  had  grown. 
Miss  Curtis  often  determined  to  take  Olive 
there,  but  she  dreaded  to  let  even  the  girl 
be  aware  of  her  simple  enjoyment  in  farm 
life  and  country  pleasures ;  of  her  delight 
in  cutting  the  flowers  from  her  own  garden, 
for  which  she  owed  no  one  a  "  thank  you." 
In  the  city,  one  always  has  to  remember 
when  bouquets  are  sent,  that  in  due  time 
the  compliment  may  be  returned.  She 


PANSIES.  159 

loved  to  put  the  yellow  nasturtiums  in 
the  brown  Moravian  jar  which  had  stood 
on  her  father's  high  mantel-piece  ever  since 
she  was  a  girl.  She  gathered  the  bachelor 
buttons  into  the  blue  Delft  pitcher.  Over 
her  pansies  she  lingered  long.  They  were 
laid  far  apart  from  each  other  in  the  saucer 
with  its  dainty  sprigs  of  enamel.  Each 
heart's-ease  looked  at  her  with  the  eyes 
of  friends  now  resting  under  the  spreading 
myrtle.  She  gazed  down  into  their  velvety 
softness,  into  their  gay  impertinences  of 
laughing  colors,  and  recalled  the  by-gone 
fancies  and  the  wan  hopes  of  her  girlhood. 
Tenderly  her  withered  fingers  hovered  over 
the  dark  blue  purple  petals.  Did  a  tear  fall 
on  the  green  pistil  ?  Did  the  angel  of  the 
flowers  send  up  its  perfumed  message,  that 
love  liveth  ever  ? 

Could  she  let  Olive  see  her  wind  the 
delicate  tracery  of  the  bridal  wreath  over 
a  clump  of  white  dahlias,  in  a  distant  field, 
the  opened  wealth  of  fluted  petals  bending 


160  MISS   CURTIS. 

under  the  light  weight  of  grace  thrown  over 
them  ?  Could  she  permit  the  girl  to  follow 
her  as  she  hid  her  feet  under  the  glowing 
bunch-berries,  or  wove  j^ards  of  "  love-tape  " 
from  the  little  trinities  of  pine  needles,  or 
pulled  the  crinkled  lichen  and  the  coral 
moss,  —  the  fairies'  tea-set,  —  and  played 
housekeeping  with  her  memories  of  the 
past?  Did  the  wee  red  cups  remind  her 
of  her  father's  tea-table,  and  of  some  one 
who  sat  there  with  her? 

She  knew  the  girl  would  be  merciful,  but 
one  wants  no  resurrection  of  the  buried 
past  through  sympathy.  Yet  Olive  must 
go  and  realize  the  life  that  might  soon  be 
before  her. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

FARMER   NUTTING. 

IT  was  rumored  in  Ludben  that  Miss 
Curtis  was  coming  to  her  old  home  and 
was  to  bring  with  her  the  daughter  of  a 
dear  friend.  The  young  men  began  to 
clean  their  rusty  harnesses  preparatory  to 
picnics;  the  country  girls  rejected  "Harp 
er's  Bazar  "  and  waited  to  borrow  patterns 
from  the  young  lady  from  the  city;  the 
whole  village  put  on  an  air  of  senile  youth. 
The  babies  remained  the  only  natural  in 
habitants  of  the  place.  Every  one  else 
was  intent  on  appearances.  The  minister 
shoved  aside  his  sermon  on  the  beauty  of 
early  death,  and  began  another  on  the 

advantages  of  old   age.     The  gray-headed 
11 


162  MISS   CURTIS. 

farmers,  as  they  talked  down  street  from 
the  rough  uncovered  seats  of  their  rick 
ety  wagons,  or  as  they  clustered  round  the 
village  tavern  and  called  for  ginger  pop, 
told  stories  of  the  olden  time. 

"  Waal,  naow,  I  reckon,"  said  Farmer 
Hastings,  "  we  're  a  mighty  sight  better  off, 
taken  as  a  hull,  than  if  that  'ere  'cademy 
had  been  built,  with  the  porto-rico  on  the 
front,  and  the  pizarro  on  the  rear.  It  would 
have  cost  a  heap  o'  cash,  an'  they  du  tell 
that  the  old  man  had  n't  sech  a  pile  as  he  'd 
orter  'cumulate,  sence  he  was  never  a  drink 
ing  man." 

"Waal,  naow,  I  kinder  rather  see  the 
urchins  a-bobbing  about  over  their  fathers' 
graves  than  a  solitary-looking  town  sech 
as  is  prevalent  out  to  Dakoty.  If  the 
old  man's  daughter  had  n't  been  a  woman, 
she  'd  never  have  set  such  a  sight  by 
marrying,"  chimed  in  Farmer  Nutting. 

"  You  have  scotched  it,  Brother  Nutting. 
Wimmen-folks  is  long-headed  in  virtoo  of 


FARMER  NUTTING.  163 

their  heart.  She  see'd  that  marrying  is 
the  beginning  and  end  on't  things,  a  raal 
primary  chaos,  with  a  tower  of  Babel  at 
't  other  end.  There  are  nigh  unto  forty 
couple  who 's  rooted  here  in  this  'ere  town 
ship,  seeing  as  how  she  'd  set  'em  up,  who 
'd  'a*  gone  out  to  Dakoty  and  left  the  choir 
if  she  had  n't  conditioned  her  gift  on  their 
staying  put." 

"  It  all  comes,"  rejoined  the  first  speaker, 
"from  Miss  Curtis  being  a  clear-headed, 
non-suffraging  woman,  who  knows  the 
wuth  of  fat  and  lean  to  a  pig,  and  uses 
phosphate  to  her  land  'cause  the  Lord's 
sparing  of  his  rain  in  these  latter  days. 
It 's  a  sight  better  for  us  than  a  brick 
college,  and  scraggly  students  a-scenting 
themselves  with  pennyroyal." 

Farmer  Hastings  pulled  up  his  reins  and 
tried  to  balance  himself  on  the  narrow  seat 
so  that  he  could  urge  his  spare  horse  to  a 
slow  trot  and  yet  keep  his  ear  toward  the 
talkers.  Remembering  that  he  had  not 


164  MISS   CURTIS. 

had  the  last  word,  he  dropped  the  reins  and 
faced  clear  round,  saying,  — 

"  B'ys,  Farmer  Nutting  's  got  the  core  o' 
the  thing.  It  's  a  sight  better  making 
these  stubbly  lands  bloom  like  the  Jordan, 
than  it  is  to  spread  book  eddication.  Ma 
chinery  and  populous  trees  is  what  a  grow 
ing  taown  like  ours  needs.  We  've  got  the 
finest  land  in  all  the  State,  and  when  her 
father  died  it  was  all  run  out ;  naow  it 's  a 
first-class  ra'al  thriving  taown,  with  mod 
ern  improvements.  Our  county  fairs  and 
prizes  for  bedquilts  and  cheeses  bring  in 
more  cash  to  the  wimmen-folks  than  all 
the  students'  washing  could  have  done. 
Our  young  'uns,  they  improve  on  their  dads, 
and  get  up  fancy  farming  and  mechanical 
dairies.  Won't  we  give  her  a  funeral  and 
an  ovation  when  she  gits  ready ! "  and 
Hastings  again  took  up  the  leather  reins, 
mended  here  and  there  with  weak  string, 
and  prepared  to  start. 

"  Waal,  now,"  resumed  Nutting,  "  don't 


FARMER  NUTTING.  165 

you  be  in  a  stew  to  get  off.  Natur  don't 
grow  with  'lacrity,  like  a  green  cowcumber 
vine.  Let 's  consider  on  that  funeral ;  " 
and  he  looked  crosswise  at  the  columns 
of  smoke  he  blew  to  the  right  from  his 
mouth  as  he  sat  on  top  of  a  barrel  out 
side  the  door.  "  I  'm  one  of  them  kind 
that  likes  to  eulogize  folks  and  write  epi 
taphs  on  'em  when  they  are  living.  We 
might  give  her  a  toast  and  a  bummer  when 
she  comes  along." 

"  She  don't  hanker  arter  that  kind  o' 
celeebrity,"  was  the  answer.  "  She 's  get 
ting  on  in  life,  an'  she  likes  to  mouse  round 
in  her  own  fashion  an'  see  if  tater-bugs 
has  crawled  up  here ;  when  they  du,  I 
reckon  the  child' en  will  have  to  fetch  her 
baskets  full  'fore  she  marries  'em.  'Long 
of  marrying,  did  you  ever  happen  ter 
reflect  on  why  she  ain't  a  been  yoked 
herself?" 

"  She  ain't  the  circumwenting,  wheedling 
kind  that  gits  a  man  asy;  but  if  you's 


166  MISS  CURTIS. 

knowing  on  to  any  partikler  reason,  let 's 
hear  on  to  it." 

"  Waal  now,"  answered  Hastings,  slowly, 
"I  du  recall  a  likely  chap  as  was  round 
here  when  she  was  a  young  'ooman ;  but  I 
allers  sort  o'  reckoned  that  he  did  n't  hitch 
on  to  morals  and  new-fangled  ways  o' 
doing  a  man's  dooty.  Ef  I  knows  anything 
rightly,  it 's  that  she 's  mighty  sorry.  Eh, 
b'ys?" 

The  old  men  looked  up,  for  several  other 
teams  had  come  along  and  were  standing 
diagonally  to  the  wooden  sidewalk,  while 
their  owners  were  lounging  about.  Hast- 
ings's  memory  strengthened  when  he  saw 
his  audience,  and  having  disposed  of  the 
quid  of  tobacco  in  the  hollow  of  his  cheek, 
he  continued  his  recollections  :  — 

"Waal,  as  she  an'  I  are  nigh  on  to  the 
end  o'  things,  't  ain't  no  harm  in  guessing, 
and  I  'm  kinder  weary  with  the  heaviness 
of  silence  this  forty  year  an'  more.  Why, 
you  see,  'fore  she  left  here  for  good,  when 


FARMER  NUTTING.  1G7 

we  were  so  riled  up  on  account  of  her  pa's 
will,  I  saw  her  an'  him  —  I  mean  her  chap 
—  adown  by  the  brook  that  runs  through  my 
fields,  an'  they  were  a-skipping  stones  along 
the  water ;  but  they  could  n't  throw  any 
distance  to  speak  of,  seein'  as  how  he  had 
his  arm  round  her  rigger.  You  mind  how, 
if  you  go  up  the  stream  to  the  left  an' 
turn  in  at  the  bars,  you  come  to  a  kind  of 
a  churchyard,  only  thar  been't  no  tomb 
stones  to  sit  on.  Waal,  now,  that  used  to 
be  her  pa's  flower-garden,  and  her  ma's 
bones  ar'  resting  thar ;  poor  lady !  she 
trotted  after  her  husband  all  her  days. 
Them  two  —  her  chap  and  herself  —  used 
to  play  in  among  them  flowers  and  in  the 
woods  like  two  lambs  a-friskin'.  'T  wur  n't 
no  sense  in  it,  but  I  wished  I  could  fix 
her  so  pretty  as  he  did  with  berries  and 
flowers  a-sticking  into  her  hair.  In  them 
days  I  was  taown  sheriff,  an'  it  war  my 
dooty  to  go  round  peeking.  Waal,  now, 
ever  sence  that  time,  when  she  gits  here, 


168  MISS  CURTIS. 

she  goes  down  to  that  brook  all  alone  and 
skips  stones,  mighty  feeble  like ;  and  then 
she  turns  in  to  her  ma's  grave,  an'  thar 
she's  sot.  I  reg'lar  go  up  to  the  attic 
window  an'  spy  on  her.  It 's  lonesome 
for  her,  an'  I  likes  to  keep  her  company. 
They  du  say  that  love's  powerful  long- 
lived  ;  but  I  never  had  a  widder,  an'  't  ain't 
likely  naow  as  I  ever  shall.  That's  all, 
b'ys." 

The  air  was  thick  with  smoke  as  the 
farmers  knocked  out  the  ashes  from  their 
clay  pipes  and  thrust  them  into  their  pock 
ets.  Each  man  clambered  up  to  his  wagon- 
seat  and  drove  off  silently. 


CHAPTER    XVIH. 

MISS    CURTIS'S    CLIENTS. 

OLIVE,  Miss  Curtis,  a  great  box  of  canned 
goods,  an  assortment  of  Bent's  crackers, 
and  sundry  trunks,  arrived  at  the  same 
time  in  Ludben.  The  station  was  a  mod 
ern  structure  of  two  baronial  waiting-rooms 
designated  in  universal  terms  "For  Men," 
"For  Women,"  rather  than  labelled  in  the 
language  of  society,  which  seeks  to  mol 
lify  feminine  existence  by  calling  women 
"  ladies."  The  high,  deep,  red  brick  fireplaces 
were  filled  with  wilted  branches.  Canary- 
bird  cages,  flower-pots,  a  rocking-chair,  a  mus 
lin  tripod  work-basket,  and  a  box  of  marsh 
mallows,  with  its  floury  dust  scattered  over 
the  telegraph  blanks,  beautified  the  corner 
of  the  dreary  place  called  the  telegraph- 


170  MISS   CURTIS. 

operator's  room;  where,  protected  by  a 
high  and  open  balustrade,  which  separated 
this  nook  from  the  rest  of  the  space,  an 
immature  and  frizzled  damsel  worked  the 
instrument. 

Miss  Curtis  abominated  these  attempts 
to  adorn  a  professional  life,  and  always  sent 
her  messages  down  to  the  next  station, 
where  a  man  in  homespun,  with  a  spittoon 
and  a  pipe,  smoked  away  the  hours  in  the 
interim  of  despatches.  To-day  the  station 
and  baggage  masters,  the  telegraphic  fe 
male  clerk,  the  freight  hands,  the  men  who 
had  nothing  to  do,  the  gossips,  and  a  few 
"help  "  from  the  village  tavern,  with  belts 
drawn  tightly  round  the  waists  of  their 
striped  dresses,  gathered  about  the  plat 
form  of  the  station.  Farmer  Nutting  took 
it  upon  himself  to  be  the  interpreter  of  the 
village  greetings. 

"  Waal,  Miss  Curtis,  you  got  along  'fore 
the  tater-bugs,  this  time !  Had  any  sick 
spells  sence  we  seed  you  ?  You  hold  your 


MISS   CURTIS' S   CLIENTS.  171 

age  surprisin' !  Be  she  your  'dopted  dar 
ter?"  he  asked,  pointing  to  Olive. 

"  I  don't  interfere  with  Nature  ;  she  has 
her  own  parents,  but  she  has  come  down 
here  to  learn  farming,"  answered  Miss 
Curtis. 

"  Waal,  now,  grafting  ain't  no  sech  bad 
thing  for  folks  any  more  than  't  is  for  trees  ; 
the  parent  stock  gits  run  out.  Waal,  the 
long  and  short  on  't  is,  we  are  a  heap  glad 
to  see  you.  Bisness  is  thriving."  And 
Nutting  unwillingly  retreated,  to  let  others 
approach  and  shake  hands  with  the  new 
arrivals. 

"  The  parson  an'  the  teacher  '11  call  round 
to-morrer  to  enquire  after  your  health," 
called  the  farmer,  as  the  ladies  mounted 
into  a  high,  black,  three-seated  vehicle 
called  "  the  Express." 

"  Come  up  yourself,  Mr.  Nutting,"  said 
Miss  Curtis. 

"Waal,  now,  seeing  as  you  asked  me, 
maybe  I  will.  I'd  kinder  like  to  tell  you 


172  MISS   CURTIS. 

how  the  'lections  went.  It  broke  up  s'ciety 
here  toler'ble  bad.  They  du  say  as  how  folks 
can't  come  together  agin ;  sech  words  as 
has  been  used  made  a  judgment  day :  dim- 
mycrats  and  'publicans  war  reg'lar  sheep 
an'  goats.  I  want  to  advise  yer  'gainst 
giving  any  of  yer  old  clothes  to  'em 
long-winded,  speechifying,  'publican  wim- 
men-folks,  who  ar'  klu-kluxing  respect 
able  townsmen.  Naow,  Miss  Curtis,  don't 
yer." 

The  lady  smiled,  and  told  the  driver  to 
start  up  his  horses. 

"  Don't  yer,  naow,"  urged  the  farmer. 
"I'll  take  it  as  a  personal  favor  to  my 
family  if  yer  don't." 

Miss  Curtis's  words  were  lost  between  the 
flapping  canvas  sides  of  "the  Express"  and 
the  voices  of  the  little  boys  who  shouted 
their  "hoorays." 

"The  Express"  stopped  at  an  old-fash 
ioned  farm-house  with  the  attachments  of 
a  modern  barn  and  a  cobble-stone  pathway 


MISS  CURTIS' S  CLIENTS.  173 

bordered  with  brilliant  widths  of  gay  flow 
ers.  Miss  Curtis  received  a  welcome  from 
the  man  and  his  wife,  which  was  a  compos 
ite  of  gladness  at  seeing  her,  of  deference 
to  her  as  owner,  of  gratitude  to  her  for 
past  and  future  favors,  and  also  of  that 
cumbersome  sense  of  equality  between  her 
and  them  which  is  never  forgotten  in 
America,  since  at  any  time  a  farmer  may 
be  called  from  his  hereditary  fields  to  his 
State  legislature. 

The  supper  was  soon  served.  It  was 
less  heterogeneous  in  its  aspect  than  is 
usual  in  the  country,  and  was  shared  by  all 
alike ;  for  on  the  same  principle  by  which 
she  made  evening  calls  upon  her  clients, 
Miss  Curtis  considered  a  meal  a  revealer  of 
family  moods.  She  lost  no  opportunity  for 
strengthening  her  preconceived  impressions 
of  people  by  watching  them  at  unexpected 
moments. 

Several  friends  dropped  in  after  tea. 
For  all,  Miss  Curtis  had  some  characteristic 


174  MISS   CURTIS. 

word  of  welcome.  Olive's  wonder  kept  her 
silent.  She  had  never  seen  her  old  friend 
in  her  baronial  style,  which  softened  her 
to  such  a  degree  that  the  girl's  curiosity 
and  fear  were  alike  aroused. 

"  Child,"  said  Miss  Curtis  to  her  as  they 
parted  at  the  chamber  doors,  "  I  've  got 
home,  that 's  all  it  is.  Don't  grudge  me 
the  little  love  I've  earned.  Most  people 
bask  in  what  comes  to  them  by  grace.  I  've 
been  years  making  a  welcome  for  myself  j 
let  me  sun  myself  in  it  for  a  while." 

"  Why,  aunt,  it  is  only  that  you  seem  so 
happy ! " 

"And  so  I  seemed  unnatural!"  answered 
Miss  Curtis,  sadly.  "  Well,  you  have  cured 
my  forgetfulness ; "  and  the  bitter  look 
came  back  into  her  face. 

"  Oh,  aunt,  I  did  n't  mean  to.  Do  be 
happy ! " 

The  old  lady  turned  her  candle  full  upon 
the  girl's  countenance,  saying  with  a  quick 
transition  of  manner  to  sternness,  "  I  have 


MISS  CURTIS'S  CLIENTS.  175 

faith  in  you  because  you  construe  life  by 
'to  be'  instead  of  'to  have/  May  you 
always  be  able  to  take  yourself  as  you  are, 
and  not  have  to  make  yourself  into  what 
you  should  be.  Olive,  I  ain  very  tired  of 
striving.  Good-night."  And  Miss  Curtis 
opened  her  door  so  quickly  that  the  sudden 
draught  blew  out  the  candle. 

The  door  was  slammed  to  on  the  inside. 
Olive,  remembering  that  she  had  seen  her 
aunt  place  some  matches  in  the  broad  tin 
basin  of  the  candlestick,  forbore  to  knock 
and  offer  to  relight  the  candle.  Betrayal 
of  sudden  emotion  reacts  in  concealment 
of  it,  and  Olive  respected  this  universal 
law. 

The  days  soon  settled  into  grooves.  At 
sunset  Miss  Curtis  wandered  away  by  her 
self  and  no  one  asked  where,  for  she  then 
assumed  her  let-me-alone  manner.  In  the 
afternoons  and  evenings  Olive  was  either 
left  to  herself,  or  Miss  Curtis  provided  some 
entertainment  for  her.  All  the  young  peo- 


176  MISS   CURTIS. 

pie  called,  and  Olive  soon  found  herself 
deep  in  a  list  of  engagements  for  walks 
and  croquet  (tennis  had  not  yet  taken  pos 
session  of  the  town),  for  tea-parties  and 
dances.  In  the  mornings  Miss  Curtis  took 
her  on  tours  of  inspection.  Sometimes  they 
were  gone  all  day.  Olive  was  perpetually 
amazed  at  the  knowledge  of  farm  life 
which  her  aunt  evinced.  The  men  talked 
with  her  about  the  land,  the  crops,  the  hay, 
and  their  stock,  as  if  she  were  an  old 
settler.  There  was  nothing  that  escaped 
her  vigilant  eye,  from  the  merest  speck  of 
red  sorrel  in  the  field  to  the  corns  on  the 
horses'  hoofs. 

She  not  only  knew  the  names  of  her 
clients'  children,  but  she  kept  the  records 
of  their  dentition  and  their  vaccination. 
She  had  provided  her  families  with  red 
flags,  which  were  to  be  hung  out  in  cases 
of  scarlet  fever.  She  knew  how  much  pork 
they  had  salted,  and  how  much  soft  soap 
the  women  had  made.  She  was  perpetu- 


MISS  CURTIS' S   CLIENTS.  177 

ally  carrying  a  bundle  of  rags  to  some 
one  er  other,  to  be  woven  into  rugs  rep 
resenting  Rebecca  at  the  Well,  or  ante 
diluvian  animals. 

There  was  an  air  of  prosperity  in  all  the 
homes,  for  which,  as  it  might  be  said,  Miss 
Curtis  had  given  the  plant.  There  was 
a  general  effect  of  cool  sitting-rooms ;  of 
Brussels  tapestry  carpets  with  designs  of 
moss  roses ;  of  shining  kitchen  tins  and 
sanded  floors.  Each  house  had  its  chest  of 
accumulating  bedquilts  of  myriad  patterns, 
the  favorite  design  being  an  olive-green 
patchwork  basket  holding  yellow-olive 
calico  oranges.  Woe  to  the  unhappy  house 
wife  whose  pieces  were  not  exactly  matched, 
or  where  a  corner  of  the  cotton  triangle 
butted  against  the  base  of  another  trian 
gular  scrap,  thus  narrowing  or  widening 
the  dimensions  of  the  third  three-cornered 
bit !  Even  if  Miss  Curtis's  visits  reminded 
Olive  of  the  census  collector,  it  was  evident 

that  no  one  dreaded  her  coming;  yet  she 
12 


178  MISS   CURTIS. 

bestowed  advice  freely,  and  gifts  sparingly, 
usefully,  and  unexpectedly. 

Miss  Curtis  had  a  day-book  and  ledger 
way  of  putting  down  the  points  of  each 
family,  as  they  varied  from  summer  to 
summer.  Olive  was  obliged  to  transfer 
Miss  Curtis's  deeds  and  her  reflections 
upon  her  people  from  one  account  to  the 
other. 

Said  Miss  Curtis  one  day,  on  their  return 
home :  "  Write  down,  child,  under  Ross, 
<  Found  the  woman  spent  her  time  in  mak 
ing  calla-lily  tidies  of  white  silk  and  green 
worsted.  Misplaced  sentiment.  See  that 
she  has  a  tonic.  Carry  her  over  to  next 
year  for  improvement.' ' 

Of  another  person  Olive  wrote :  "  If  her 
husband  has  not  a  hired  girl  by  next  Sat 
urday,  sell  out  the  lease." 

"It  is  hopeless,"  Miss  Curtis  explained 
to  Olive,  "to  do  for  a  family,  where  the 
man  sublets  his  wife  as  cook  for  the  house 
hold,  especially  in  haying-time.  Women's 


MISS   CURTIS'S  CLIENTS.  179 

souls  are  worth  more  than  hay.  Scrub 
bing  acts  on  the  intellect,  and  is  biblical; 
but  baking  pies  is  idiocy." 

Farmer  Nutting  came  up  early  one  morn 
ing  to  call. 

"  I  say,  Miss  Curtis,  I  kinder  wish  you  'd 
hitch  up  and  go  'cross  the  river  to  see 
Nancy.  She 's  more  'n  riled  than  common. 
She  says  you  hain't  been  to  see  her  sence 
you  come  round.  She  says  her  stomach 's 
not  sot  right;  that  it  goes  to  vegetation. 
I  dunno  rightly  what  she  means,  but  it 
sounds  as  if  some  harb  medicine  might 
work  a  'tarnal  cure  on  her." 

"It's  no  use,  Mr.  Nutting.  I  haven't 
been,  on  purpose.  She  is  more  aggravating 
than  I  am  myself.  She  is  just  like  black 
flies  to  me,"  said  Miss  Curtis. 

"  Waal,  now,  that 's  curus.  If  she  war  n't 
my  sister,  I  should  be  uncommon  obleeged 
to  her ;  but  seeing  as  she  is,  I  calklate  to 
git  her  married  off  my  hands  afore  long. 
Thar 's  a  Methody  round  that 's  all  struck 


180  MISS  CURTIS. 

up  with  her  economy.  I  should  have 
starved  if  it  war  n't  for  your  baccy,  Miss 
Curtis.  It's  mighty  filling  when  you  are 
all  hollow." 

"She  isn't  to  marry,"  insisted  Miss 
Curtis.  "  She  'd  blight  his  life  worse  than 
a  spell  of  bad  weather  on  cornstalks." 

"Waal,  now,  last  night  I  was  kinder 
hopeful,  an'  I  put  for  the  minister  'cross 
lots ;  he  'd  gone  off  on  an  exchange,  'cause 
he  'd  used  up  his  brains,  gin  the  Sabbath 
come ;  an'  by  the  time  he  gits  back,  the 
Methody  '11  get  gone.  Yer  see  he 's  on 
a  circuit,  an'  he'd  take  her  with  him 
cruisin'  round  on  parishes,  an'  they  would 
n't  find  her  out  'fore  he  'd  git  another  lo 
cation.  She 's  got  a  lien  on  the  farm,  to 
be  sure ;  but  I  'd  work  it  chirpy  as  a  grass 
hopper  while  she 's  off.  Miss  Curtis,  thar 
ain't  no  other  way  of  gittin  rid  of  her." 

"  Does  she  still  iron  out  her  paper  bags 
and  take  them  back  to  the  grocery  ? " 
asked  the  lady. 


MISS   CURTIS' S   CLIENTS.  181 

"  Yes,  by  Jerusalem !  she  does ;  an'  she 's 
been  usin'  our  ma's  old  blue  crockery 
set,  'cause  she  said  it  did  n't  show  grease 
like  the  white  kind ;  an'  she 's  taught  that 
Methody  how  to  keep  one  edge  o'  his  plate 
clean  for  the  pie,  alongside  the  taters  an' 
the  stew,  so  she  won't  have  to  git  down 
another  plate.  Them 's  more  val'able  qual 
ities  in  a  wife  than  in  a  sister,  —  eh,  Miss 
Curtis?" 

"  Farmer  Nutting,  I  won't  have  anything 
to  do  with  her.  She  has  been  tempting 
Providence  these  last  ten  years  to  get  her 
married,  by  dyeing  her  hair  and  by  asking 
other  people  if  their  teeth  were  natural,  as 
much  as  to  say  that  hers  are  so.  I  'm  not 
going  to  be  its  agent  now." 

"  Don't  fire  up  so,  Miss  Curtis.  I  only 
thought  as  how  if  you  'd  send  him  a  V,  an* 
give  her  one  of  your  old  black  silks,  it 
might  hurry  up  matters.  My  life 's  a  sight 
miserabler  than  yourn." 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Nutting;  but 


182  MISS   CURTIS. 

you  can't  give  up  a  natural  trust  like  a 
sister,  so  don't  you  be  so  cantankerous  as 
to  lead  that  Methody  man  to  invest  in  a 
wife  when  he  can't  get  any  income  out  of 
her  except  that  she'll  economize  him  to 
shreds." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE    BAPTISM. 

Miss  CURTIS  followed  her  own  ideas,  re 
gardless  of  others'  whims,  and  gave  her 
money  as  she  chose,  especially  hi  affairs  of 
religion.  The  townspeople  were  not  al 
ways  satisfied  with  her  wide  creed  and  deed. 
They  had  already  two  churches,  and  now 
another  kind  of  sectarian  philanthropist 
wanted  to  build  a  third  meeting-house.  It 
was  considered  a  favorable  opening  for  lib 
eral  ideas,  that  people  were  hungering  and 
thirsting  for  the  faith  which  they  knew  in 
spirit  but  had  never  heard  with  their  ears 
nor  seen  vested  in  an  organization.  A 
middle-aged,  good,  contemplative  man  had 
been  preaching  every  Sunday  in  the  town- 
hall.  The  hearers  consisted  of  three  or  four 


184  •       MISS  CURTIS. 

intelligent,  prosperous  persons,  several  tired 
wives,  a  few  lank  men  of  disjointed  mind, 
and  sundry  girls  and  boys  who  strolled  into 
the  hall  for  want  of  something  else  to 
do. 

The  audience,  it  was  said,  could  not 
grow  amid  the  week-day  associations  of 
the  place.  A  certain  amount,  it  was  hoped, 
would  be  given  from  missionary  funds,  if  a 
sufficient  quota  could  be  raised  on  the  spot. 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Crane  solicited  Miss  Curtis's 
aid.  His  request  awoke  her  direst  anger. 

For  thirty  years  she  had  been  trying  to 
weld  the  town  into  unity.  Two  small  par 
ishes  had  faded  out  of  existence  with  the 
death  of  their  elders.  It  was  her  ardent 
hope  to  live  to  see  one  or  the  other  of  the 
present  churches  dematerialize ;  she  cared 
little  whether  it  were  the  Methodists  or 
Baptists  who  remained.  She  herself  would 
have  been  called  a  liberal,  but  she  detested 
the  name  because  it  was  so  often  coupled 
with  illiberal  interference ;  yet  she  dreamed 


THE  BAPTISM.  185 

of  a  elmrch  so  broad  that  it  could  be  joined 
by  all  who  were  reverent  and  truthful. 

The  clerical  gentleman  urged  his  claim, 
and  appealed  to  her  supposed  denomina 
tional  loyalty. 

"I  haven't  any,"  replied  Miss  Curtis, 
"  just  as  I  have  n't  any  patriotism.  I 
don't  like  geographical  limitation  of  affec 
tion  any  better  than  I  like  protection  in 
religion." 

"  Free  trade,  then,  ought  to  allow  me  to 
establish  our  own  faith,"  urged  Mr.  Crane. 

"  Free  trade,"  sniffed  Miss  Curtis ,  "  does 
n't  coop  itself  up  in  churches ;  it  does  n't 
try  to  hatch  thought  by  using  ministers  as 
incubators.  Those  who  say  they  believe  in 
doctrines  are  so  doubtful  about  their  opin 
ions  that  they  protect  them  by  church  fairs 
and  by  selling  ministerial  photographs." 

"  Still,  don't  you  think  a  sermon  or  two 
might  be  useful  ?  "  asked  the  parson. 

"I  think  a  life  or  two  might  be  more 
useful.  If  you  and  your  wife  will  come 


186  MISS   CURTIS. 

here  and  live,  and  show  people  by  your  liv 
ing  how  your  '  faith  makes  you  faithful/ 
I'll  pay  you  a  salary  for  doing  things 
which  ministers  have  not  got  time  to  do. 
Sermons  are  killing  parsons ;  they  have  not 
leisure  to  be  either  examples  or  friends." 

"  But  the  church,"  suggested  Mr.  Crane, 
timidly. 

"  Let  the  church  go ;  just  live  and  do 
your  duty,  and —  " 

She  was  interrupted  by  Olive,  who  added, 
"  And  be  happy  in  doing  it ;  "  for  she  had 
been  listening  to  the  conversation,  though 
apparently  tabulating  her  aunt's  impres 
sions  of  the  day  for  future  reference. 

Miss  Curtis  looked  gratefully  at  her, 
saying,  — 

"  She  has  said  it  for  me.  Come  and  do 
that,  and  your  children  will  see  the  town 
alive  with  character  and  worship,  though 
its  phraseology  may  be  very  different  from 
yours." 

"  If  you   think  I  could  undermine  their 


THE  BAPTISM.  187 

present  beliefs,  I  might,"  still  pleaded  the 
preacher. 

"  It  is  not  undermining,"  replied  she,  "  it 
is  the  doctrine  of  equivalents  —  give  and 
get,  Nature's  way  —  that  is  wanted.  Hold 
your  own  belief  so  strongly  that  you  can 
wait  for  others  to  grow  up  into  it.  Don't 
thrust  it  on  to  them  like  a  prickly  burr,  to 
worry  them." 

Miss  Curtis  had  risen  as  she  spoke,  and 
was  standing  by  the  window.  Uncon 
sciously  she  ran  her  hand  up  and  down 
the  lemon  verbena  that  was  in  the  flower- 
stand.  Gathering  its  fragrance  in  her  palm, 
and  holding  it  up  to  her  face,  she  seemed  to 
breathe  in  its  spicy  aroma. 

"  Your  faith  should  be  a  sweet-smelling 
savor  unto  the  Lord,  like  this  flower, 
against  which  men  can  rub  their  lives  and 
come  away  scented  with  the  strength  of  its 
sweetness." 

She  spoke  slowly  and  sank  down  wearily, 
tired  by  her  unwonted  feeling.  Olive  laid 


188  MISS   CURTIS. 

aside  her  work  and  rose,  as  if  waiting  for 
a  vision.  The  minister  was  too  narrow 
to  forget  himself,  and  made  one  more  en 
deavor  to  enlist  her  co-operation  in  his 
limitations. 

"  I  follow  your  meaning,  madam,  com 
paratively;  but  as  we  all  want  to  bear 
witness  to  our  own  beliefs,  I  should  take  it 
as  a  personal  favor  to  our  denomination  if 
you  expressed  your  disapprobation  of  the 
corning  baptism  down  by  the  shore." 

"  The  benefit  of  immersion,"  replied 
Miss  Curtis,  "  is,  that  you  know  when  you 
Ve  got  beyond  your  own  depth." 

The  minister  stared ;  her  manner,  if  not 
her  words,  signified  dismissal  of  himself 
and  his  subject.  He  took  up  his  soft  hat, 
brushed  it  with  his  coat-sleeve,  never  no 
ticing  that  it  caved  in  under  the  sweeping 
strokes  of  his  arm,  and  departed,  grieved. 

"  That  man  makes  me  think  of  the  old 
saying,  i  You  can't  see  a  town  because  of 
the  houses ; '  he  can't  see  that  there  is  a 


THE  BAPTISM.  189 

church  universal  because  of  his  own  sect," 
was  all  that  Miss  Curtis  vouchsafed  as  her 
opinion  of  him. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  The  silvery 
sky  of  the  early  morning  had  deepened 
into  the  leaden  gray  of  the  afternoon,  when 
Miss  Curtis  and  Olive  took  their  way  to  the 
little  Baptist  meeting-house  on  the  out 
skirts  of  the  town.  It  was  a  barn-like 
structure,  with  its  pulpit  ornaments  lacking 
in  one  tassel  for  the.  Bible  cushion,  and  in 
one  arm  of  the  beaded,  perforated  card 
board  cross  which  hung  limply  over  the 
pulpit  from  the  middle  portion  of  the 
Scriptures.  The  seats  were  very  narrow 
and  hard ;  the  window-panes  were  darkened 
by  layers  of  sacred  dust;  the  wind  tore 
down  the  chimney  and  creaked  through 
the  broken  stove-pipe  out  into  the  pews; 
the  mildew  frescoed  the  plastered  walls. 

An  old  man,  with  unstarched  cotton 
collar  to  his  shirt,  a  red  silk  handkerchief 
twisted  around  his  neck,  and  heavy  warts 


190  MISS  CURTIS. 

on  his  cheeks,  was  praying  the  Lord  to 
guide  his  people  through  the  rising  waters 
of  Jordan, — the  river  of  life  which  was 
swallowing  all  present  up  into  glory.  As 
his  voice  rose  and  fell  with  the  imaginary 
waves,  his  little  grandchild  clambered  down 
from  the  seat ;  clutching  hold  of  the  old 
man's  wide  trousers,  he  pulled  himself 
round  in  front  of  his  grandfather's  face 
and  lifted  his  arms,  as  if  in  deprecation  of 
his  grandsire's  watery  earnestness.  The 
cane  on  which  the  aged  form  was  leaning 
dropped  from  the  hand  as  it  sought  the 
boy's  ringers  and  clasped  them,  while  the 
other  hand  was  laid  on  the  child's  head,  as 
the  prayer  continued  and  the  hearers  called 
out  the  old-time  responses.  Olive  had 
never  been  to  a  nautical  prayer-meeting, 
and  the  shipwrecks  of  existence  impressed 
even  her  sunny  nature  with  dread.  She 
thought  she  was  out  to  windward,  and  that 
the  pleasures  of  the  world  were  breakers 
ahead.  If  she  could  only  reach  the  lee 


THE  BAPTISM.  191 

shore  and  cast  anchor  in  the  port  of  heaven ! 
Secretly  she  fancied  that  a  pious  person, 
who  had  not  been  to  sea,  might  be  mixed 
in  his  comparison  of  religious  and  marine 
life. 

After  a  short  address,  more  ejaculating 
prayer,  and  hymns  whose  theology  ill 
suited  their  tunes,  the  people  rose  and  wan 
dered  by  twos  from  the  church  door,  down 
the  steep  road,  up  over  the  stony  hill,  along 
the  gullied  paths,  to  the  cove,  where  the 
fresh  water  of  the  river  poured  over  the 
barnacled  rocks  and  drew  its  strength  from 
the  dripping  seaweed.  Miss  Curtis  and 
Olive  rode  after  the  procession  and  offered 
their  spare  seat  to  an  aged  woman,  whom 
they  overtook  hobbling  along  at  slow  step 
after  the  others.  She  looked  in  terror  at 
Olive's  Panama  hat  with  its  cluster  of 
apple-blossoms,  exclaiming,  "The  Queen  o' 
Sheby  's  come  to  judgment,  an'  thar  ain't 
no  Solomon  fur  her.  Go  meet  him  in  the 
waters."  She  raised  her  cane  in  warning, 


192  MISS   CURTIS. 

as  she  retreated  to  the  gully,  where  she 
sought  safety  from  horse  and  hat.  Olive 
shrank  back,  as  if  measured  and  proved 
unworthy  the  company  of  the  baptized. 

At  the  shore  all  gathered,  —  those  who 
came  on  foot  and  those  who  had  driven 
in  their  wagons.  The  tall,  gray  cliffs  on 
either  side  shut  in  the  beach;  beyond 
lay  the  horizon  broken  by  headlands,  —  a 
wild  dreary  landscape,  with  the  human 
figures  in  the  foreground  increasing  its 
penitential  aspect. 

Those  who  were  to  make  a  public  pro 
fession  of  their  belief,  stood  near  to  the 
water's  edge.  The  minister  was  clad  in  a 
close-fitting  garment,  with  tall  rubber  boots. 
The  girls  were  dressed  in  black  alpaca, 
with  broad  cotton  lace  collars.  Many  of 
them  wore  their  hair  so  tightly  crinkled 
that  Olive  regretted  the  wetting  it  must 
receive.  Some  of  them  had  rubber  circu 
lars  with  wide  sleeves,  through  which  the 
water  could  pour  as  down  two  spouts. 


THE  BAPTISM.  193 

Others   appparently  were  to  borrow  these 
garments  from  those  who  went  in  first. 

The  minister  began  by  leading  down  a  girl 
so  young  that  it  seemed  as  if  she  could 
hardly  recognize  the  force  of  her  profession. 
Very  slowly  he  bent  her  backward  into 
the  water,  supporting  her  with  his  hand ; 
very  loudly  he  repeated  the  baptismal 
words,  which  the  people  on  the  shore 
caught  up  with  answering  cry  that  re 
echoed  amid  the  purple  hills.  Dripping, 
sanctified,  she  waded  ashore  and  was  re 
ceived  into  her  mother's  arms  with  a  "May 
the  Lord  now  bless  his  own  child."  From 
her,  like  a  blushing  bride,  she  passed  from 
one  to  another,  who  each  in  turn  folded  her 
to  their  hearts,  men  and  women,  young  and 
old.  Then  she  slipped  off  her  outer  dress, 
and,  shrouded  in  vapor,  the  cold  wind  blow 
ing  around  her,  she  waited  till  the  church 
brothers  and  sisters  were  alike  renewed 
by  the  chilly  baptism  of  faith.  The  men 

wore    yellow    oil-skin   coats,    and    seemed 
13 


194  MISS   CURTIS. 

more   shivering   or  less  exalted   than  the 
girls. 

The  elder  of  the  church  sought  Miss 
Curtis.  Tucking  her  elbow  inside  his 
brawny  palm,  he  took  her  to  the  neophytes. 
Olive  could  not  hear  her  words,  but  she 
saw  her  aunt  bend  forward,  and  she  knew 
the  weary  lines  of  her  face  were  giving 
place  to  greeting  smiles  as  she  shook  hands 
with  the  boys  and  lingered  with  the  girls. 
Was  she  the  prophetess  blessing  her  chil 
dren?  "What  cared  she  for  the  way  they 
took  by  which  to  make  known  their  fixed 
ness  of  purpose!  Standing  by  the  minister's 
side,  as  Hannah  may  have  stood  by  Eli 
when  she  vowed  her  child  unto  the  Lord, 
Miss  Curtis's  gaze  wandered  from  one  to 
another  of  the  newly  baptized,  who  formed 
a  circle  around  the  two,  —  the  relatives 
ranging  themselves  outside,  and  the  friends 
and  the  unchurched  again  making  an  outer 
ring.  The  three  circles  swaying  back  and 
forth,  each  reversing  the  other's  pace  and 


THE  BAPTISM.  195 

direction,  sung  unto  the  Lord  Most  High, 
until,  dizzy  with  the  mazes  of  turning  and 
emotion,  they  sank  on  their  knees  amid 
a  multitudinous  Amen. 

From  the  little  row-boats  stretched  along 
the  shore,  filled  with  curious  believers  of 
another  creed,  rose  a  sweep  of  answering 
chords.  As  Miss  Curtis  heard  the  refrain, 
she  too  bent  her  knees,  stiff  with  disuse, 
while  tears  crawled  down  her  cheeks.  The 
minister  helped  her  rise,  saying,  — 

"  Sister,  the  Lord  causeth  even  the  aged 
bones  to  bless,  and  softeneth  the  rheumatiz 
accordin'." 

Olive,  in  her  distant  nook  up  among  the 
cliffs,  to  which  she  had  clambered,  repeated 
to  herself, — 

"  From  age  to  age  it  groweth, 

That  radiant  Faith  so  high, 
And  its  crowning  day  is  coming,  by  and  by  !  " 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE    CANDY-PULL. 

"  OLIVE,"  said  Miss  Curtis  the  next  day, 
"  of  what  are  you  thinking  ?  " 

The  girl  folded  one  knee  across  the 
other,  and  her  hands  around  the  upper 
knee. 

"  I  was  wondering,  aunt,  if  people  ever 
take  cold  when  they  are  baptized,  and 
thinking  what  Mr.  Kimen  would  say." 

"  Those  of  little  faith  pretend  that  bap 
tism  makes  consumption,"  was  the  answer. 
"Don't  believe  it,  child;  you  never  take 
cold  when  you  have  emotions.  As  for 
Mr.  Kimen,  he  is  too  cold-blooded ;  baptism 
wouldn't  suit  him.  He  would  want  to 
show  people  a  better  way  when  they  were 
n't  ready  for  it.  He  is  coming  here." 


THE   CANDY-PULL.  197 

"Aunt,  you  ought  to  have  told  me. 
I  am  going  home  !  " 

Miss  Curtis  eyed  her  curiously,  saying : 

"  You  are  not  going  to  run  away  when 
you  have  n't  been  caught.  I  thought  you 
knew  how  to  trump  a  knave." 

"  He  is  n't  a  knave,  and  I  neither  want 
to  trump  him  nor  to  lose  the  trick ;  I 
simply  don't  want  to  begin  any  game  with 
him." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  her  aunt. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Then  it  is  time  you  did." 

"No,  not  yet,"  answered  Olive  again. 
"  First  place,  I  am  not  a  cause ;  that  saves 
both  him  and  me.  He  thinks  he  likes  me, 
but  it  is  only  as  I  embody  some  principle. 
Then  he  can't  make  me  out,  and  that 
provokes  him.  He  does  n't  know  enough 
of  the  world  to  take  me  simply,  just  as  I 
am;  he  knows  too  little  of  himself,  and 
fancies  I  could  make  him  what  he  wants 
to  be." 


198  MISS   CURTIS. 

"  Who  can,  child,  if  you  can't  ?  " 

"  No  person  can.  It  is  only  a  cause  that 
can  grapple  him.  When  he  settles  down 
on  one,  he  will  emancipate  himself;  but 
I  don't  think  he  will  ever  make  people 
happy,"  added  the  girl,  thoughtfully. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  again  asked  Miss  Curtis. 

"I  don't  know,"  again  answered  Olive. 
"  Perhaps  because  he  himself  is  always  his 
own  centre ;  he  can  never  get  out  of  him 
self  in  order  to  see  all  around.  It  is  the 
cause  as  it  affects  him  that  he  consid 
ers.  He  is  constantly  looking  to  see  what 
he  can  do,  and  not  what  the  Lord  will 
do." 

"Why,  Olive,  you  used  to  feel  respon 
sible,  and  you  were  wont  to  ask  yourself 
what  you  could  do,"  said  her  aunt. 

"  I  know  it,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  used  to 
feel  the  whole  world  on  my  shoulders,  and 
it  weighed  me  down.  I  was  always  strug 
gling  against  happiness  for  the  sake  of  duty. 
Now  I  let  myself  alone,  or  rather  I  am 


THE   CANDY-PULL.  199 

saturated  with  the  beauty  of  life.  It  is 
all  a  summer  day  in  a  sunset  land,  with 
promise  beyond." 

"Are  you  growing  lazy?"  asked  Miss 
Curtis. 

"No,  I  am  growing  old,"  was  the  laugh 
ing  reply.  "  It  was  Owen's  convention 
ality  which  cured  me  of  thinking  I  could 
straighten  out  things  by  merely  being  in 
earnest.  I  was  so  dead  in  earnest  when  I 
was  young,  —  a  little  girl,  I  mean,  —  that 
I  couldn't  see  the  fun  in  things,  and  I 
thought  that  conventional  people  were  dead 
weights,  and  I  think  so  still;  but  now  I 
see  it  is  their  nature.  They  see  things  in  a 
small  way,  and  when  one  is  in  earnest  to 
make  them  free  and  easy  they  close  up; 
but  if  one  can  'make  them  happy,  they  for 
get  themselves  and  get  out  into  the  sun 
shine.  So  now  I  just  look  for  crannies 
where  I  can  put  in  a  little  tact  and  make 
others  feel  comfortable." 

"  You  are  very  particular,  or  conventional, 


200  MISS  CURTIS. 

about  the  fit  of  your  dresses,  even  if  you 
are  wise  enough  not  to  overpower  people 
with  too  much  earnestness,"  observed  Miss 
Curtis. 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  said  Olive.  "  In  the 
first  place,  I  feel  at  ease  when  my  waist 
does  n't  wrinkle  and  my  sleeves  don't  bulge. 
Secondly,  I  am  a  more  agreeable  feature  in 
the  landscape,  and  so  others  feel  pleased. 
I  don't  disturb  their  aesthetic  sense  if  I  dress 
well,  and  I  don't  prejudice  other  people 
against  me  by  their  first  impressions  of 
me.  Mr.  Kimen!"  exclaimed  Olive,  rising 
hastily,  with  more  disappointment  than 
surprise  in  her  tone,  as  she  beheld  that  gen 
tleman  at  the  door. 

"Mr.  Kimen!  Well!"  ejaculated  Miss 
Curtis,  captiously. 

"  I  hope  I  don't  intrude,"  answered  he, 
awkwardly.  "  You  got  my  letter  by  the 
morning's  mail  ?  I  thought  it  might  be 
an  advantage  to  me  to  compare  your  vil 
lage  life  with  our  ranch  existence." 


THE   CANDY-PULL.  201 

"  Yes,  you  wrote  me  you  were  coming 
for  an  object,"  remarked  the  elder  lady. 

"  Life  is  so  short,  Miss  Curtis  ;  that  must 
be  my  excuse  for  always  wanting  to  im 
prove  it." 

"  Why  don't  you  leave  something  to  be 
done  in  eternity,"  she  answered.  "  You  will 
advance  morality  ahead  of  chemistry ;  the 
world  will  be  perfect  long  before  it  is  de 
stroyed.  Better  let  the  sciences  keep  pace 
with  each  other." 

Olive,  who  had  left  the  room,  soon  came 
back  in  a  rowing-suit,  which  admirably 
set  off  her  lithe  figure  and  her  happy  face. 
Mr.  Kimen  hopped  up,  expectant.  With 
entire  disregard  of  him,  she  turned  to  her 
aunt,  saying,  "  You  know  I  promised  to  go 
with  the  crowd  on  the  river ;  then  we  are 
to  land  at  Mrs.  Patch's  and  have  a  candy- 
pull  in  her  kitchen." 

"  Miss  Cadwallader,  I  beg  you,  don't  go 
on  the  river  in  such  company  j  let  me  take 
you,"  entreated  the  young  man. 


202  MISS  CURTIS. 

"  Oh,"  replied  she,  with  her  mock  grav 
ity,  "  the  crowd  is  our  gang  of  girls,  — 
the  set  I  go  with  here."  To  her  aunt  she 
added,  "  I  am  going  to  stop  for  the  little 
village  schoolma'ain.  She  has  not  had  an 
outing  this  summer ;  we  persuaded  her 
to  go." 

"  May  I  escort  you  to  her  house  ?  "  in 
quired  Mr.  Kimen. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  awfully,  but  there  is  no 
need  of  it ;  she  is  our  next-door  —  or  our 
next-yard  —  neighbor." 

"  Then  I  will  remain  with  Miss  Curtis, 
unless  she  sends  me  to  the  hotel,"  was  the 
offended  reply. 

And  Mr  Kimen  sat  himself  down  and 
made  an  ellipse  of  his  forefinger  and  thumb, 
at  which  he  gazed  for  several  moments. 

Olive  went  off  in  vague  perplexity,  but 
soon  forgot  both  it  and  its  cause.  The  row 
up  the  river  restored  her  consciousness  of 
strength.  When  they  reached  Mrs.  Patch's 
kitchen  it  was  redolent  with  the  smell  of 


THE   CANDY-PULL.  203 

West  India  molasses.  This  already  had  been 
put  on  to  boil,  for  the  woman  was  very  par 
ticular  about  the  length  of  time  needed  for 
it  to  come  to  a  boil,  and  never  allowed  any 
interference  with  her  methods.  It  was  soon 
turned  out  into  greased  platters,  and  when 
it  was  somewhat  cool,  the  fun  of  pulling 
began. 

The  girls  wore  sensible  white  aprons,  yet 
with  a  bit  of  ribbon  tucked  somewhere ;  for 
what  maiden  can  forego  the  coquetry  of  a 
bow  ?  A  few  of  the  boys  consented  to  have 
dish-towels  pinned  around  them.  There 
was  much  finessing  over  the  removal  of 
rings.  One  declared  that  her  fingers  had 
grown  so  plump  that  she  could  not  get  off 
the  amethyst  bearing  her  initials  set  in 
cheap  pearls.  Another  said  her  hands  had 
grown  so  thin  that  her  topaz,  made  strong  in 
color  by  its  yellow  mountings,  was  always 
slipping  off.  The  boys  held  out  their  little 
fingers,  that  the  girls  might  twist  off  their 
flat  seal  rings  and  make  many  apologies 


204  MISS   CURTIS. 

for  hurting  them  so  much.  No  one  had 
any  which  fitted  comfortably.  Olive  had 
taken  off  her  alexandrite  and  put  it  into 
her  pocket,  unobserved  as  she  hoped.  But 
she  overheard  Polly  telling  Sukey  that  she 
supposed  Miss  Cadwallader  felt  badly  with 
nothing  but  just  that  bilious-looking  stone. 
They  all  paired  off  at  their  voluntary 
work  of  pulling.  Some  looked  like  em 
ployees  in  a  rope-walk,  as  they  walked  up 
and  down  the  dim  woodshed,  which  opened 
out  of  the  kitchen.  They  rolled  the  thick, 
sticky  chunks  over  and  over  in  their  buttered 
hands,  then  stretched  them  out  into  long  yel 
low  filaments.  These  they  doubled  up  in 
the  middle  and  again  drew  them  out.  As 
the  molasses  cords  grew  stronger  by  the  al 
ternate  process  of  lengthening  and  shorten 
ing,  the  brilliant  sunflower  color  faded  into 
a  creamy  white.  The  various  couples  who 
were  weaving  the  separate  strands  yielded 
to  those  who  were  deftest.  Three  of  the 
cords  were  woven  into  one  close,  heavy 


THE   CANDY-PULL.  205 

braid,  an  inch  wide,  an  inch  thick,  and  two 
feet  long. 

Olive  had  not  caught  the  secret  of  greas 
ing  her  palms  with  neither  too  much  nor 
too  little  butter  ;  therefore  she  had  con 
stant  recourse  to  scraping  them  with  a 
knife,  or  else  she  dipped  them  into  cold 
water  to  remove  the  molasses  which  covered 
them,  so  that  she  might  begin  again,  until 
she  gave  up  the  task  as  hopeless.  Shelling 
peanuts  was  much  easier,  and  was  also  a 
necessary  part  of  the  business.  So  she  and 
the  one  boy  who  wore  a  blazer  which  he  had 
just  imported  from  the  city,  devoted  them 
selves  to  preparing  the  nuts  for  the  surplus 
molasses. 

The  girls  best  known  for  their  culinary 
skill  pushed  up  their  sleeves  to  their 
dimpled  elbows  and  manufactured  pop 
corn  molasses-balls,  which  every  one  ad 
mired  but  no  one  ate.  Stale  jokes  were 
cracked,  such  as,  "Candy-pulls make  dentists' 
harvests ; "  "  Use  plenty  of  elbow  grease ;  " 


206  MISS   CURTIS. 

"  Hope  you  are  not  like  your  candy,  —  no 
stick  in  you." 

Then  the  great  pot  and  the  numerous 
pans  and  plates  were  laid  aside,  tables  and 
chairs  pushed  back,  and  such  dancing  began 
as  Olive  had  never  tried.  The  creaking 
violin  and  the  jerky  accordeon  caused  the 
steps  of  each  one  to  be  spontaneous.  Olive 
joined  in  it  all  with  zest.  The  Portland 
Fancy  was  the  serenest  performance ;  the 
Swedish  dance  made  the  rafters  ring  with 
the  chorus,  "  There  is  one  wide  river  to 
cross."  They  all  got  wound  up  and  then 
unwound  themselves.  If  some  one  stum 
bled  over  a  molasses  drop  on  the  floor,  she 
was  pulled  up  before  she  was  down. 

They  ended  with  a  genuine  blindfolded 
Ruth-and- Jacob  frolic,  in  which  each  girl, 
always  evading,  still  spurred  on  her  part 
ner  to  fresh  search  for  her.  Olive  was  too 
light-footed  to  be  easily  caught ;  yet  as  she 
called  out  to  her  Jacob,  "  Here  I  am,"  and 
then  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  room 


THE   CANDY-PULL.  207 

before  his  outstretched  arms  had  touched 
her,  she  felt  as  if  she  were  playing  the 
game  of  life  with  Mr.  Kim  en.  Historical 
reminiscences  of  marriage  by  capture,  and 
brides  with  dishevelled  hair,  gave  piquancy 
and  fleetness  to  her  motions,  which  made 
her  the  despair  of  the  boys  and  the  envy  of 
the  girls.  When  at  last  Jacob  caught  her, 
Kimen's  name  and  a  shudder  escaped  her, 
just  enough  to  make  her  pursuer  give  a 
low  whistle  and  mutter,  "  Spooks,  I  ain't 
that  fellow!" 

"  But  I  am  your  Ruth,"  pleaded  Olive,  in 
such  beseeching  tones  that  he  whispered  to 
her  confidingly,  as  he  tied  the  handkerchief 
over  her  eyes,  — 

"  Say,  now,  I  won't  tell  any  of  them  that 
you  've  got  a  beau,  but  I  'm  your  Jacob  all 
the  same  to-night." 

Olive  shuddered. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

HIEED    HELP. 

MR.  KIMEN  devoted  himself  to  Miss 
Curtis,  endeavoring  to  treat  Olive  as  if 
she  were  a  child.  The  old  lady  seemed 
wearied  with  his  painstaking  attentions ; 
he  failed  to  rouse  her  by  his  contradictions. 
Olive  grew  merry  under  his  negligence,  and 
bewildered  him  with  her  sweetness.  He, 
on  the  other  hand,  suffered ;  for  there  was 
little  exterior  life  in  the  town  to  under 
stand,  and  he  knew  not  how  to  reach  the 
interior  of  human  existence.  He  was  so 
good,  he  was  so  unsympathetic.  He  re 
sembled  an  outline  map ;  his  mind  was  full 
of  leading  directions,  yet  each  part  of  it 
lacked  color. 


HIRED  HELP.  209 

He  had  a  little  travelling  bookcase  which, 
inverted  and  padlocked,  became  a  trunk. 
This  he  carried  with  him  wherever  he 
went,  for  it  enabled  him  to  offer  the  use  of 
good  books  to  his  fellowmen,  and  also  to 
improve  himself.  It  never  occurred  to  him 
to  profit  by  the  thought  and  knowledge 
which  lay  about  in  other  volumes  on  peo 
ple's  centre-tables  and  which  lurked  in 
gossip. 

As  the  hot  days  increased,  Miss  Curtis 
had  stayed  at  home  and  had  sent  Olive  on 
her  investigating  tours  among  her  families. 
Upon  the  girl's  return  the  two  consulted 
together  concerning  the  condition  of  the 
crops  and  the  new  implements  for  making 
farming  easy,  of  which  Olive  knew  noth 
ing  ;  and  also  about  the  peculiarities  of  the 
people  and  the  best  ways  of  helping  them 
help  themselves. 

Mr.  Kimen  was  often  present  at  these 
reviews  of  character  and  agricultural  pros 
pects,  and  became  depressed.  His  logical 

14 


210  MISS  CURTIS. 

mind  could  not  follow  the  intuitive  pro 
cesses  by  which  the  ladies  arrived  at  right 
conclusions.  He  felt  self-reproached  by  the 
energy  with  which  Miss  Curtis  blamed  wo- 

O*/ 

men  for  being  sickly  and  patient,  when  he 
had  supposed  that  such  tendencies  were  a 
necessary  part  of  woman's  existence  and  of 
her  proper  fulfilment  of  duty. 

But  Miss  Curtis  had  an  invincible  dislike 
of  illness.  She  neither  knew  how  to  en 
dure  it  herself,  nor  how  to  tolerate  it  in 
others.  She  considered  sickness  a  foregone 
conclusion  of  the  neglect  of  the  laws  of 
health.  People  had  no  business  to  be  ill ; 
it  was  their  own  fault,  though  she  acknowl 
edged  it  was  necessary  to  reform  one's  grand 
mother  in  order  to  be  perfectly  healthy. 

Mr.  Kimen  had  moved  from  the  hotel 
and  was  boarding  in  the  family  of  a  weak 
woman,  a  Mrs.  Jones,  who  did  all  the 
work  of  the  household.  Her  submission 
to  the  obligations  of  life  so  appealed  to 
his  own  sense  of  fatigue  that  he  decided 


HIRED  HELP.  211 

it  would  be  best  to  approach  Miss  Curtis 
upon  the  subject,  and  at  least  draw  some 
deductions  from  her  views  concerning  it. 

"Does  she  do  her  own  work?"  asked 
that  lady. 

"Yes." 

"  And  her  husband's,  and  her  children's, 
and  the  farm  hands',  and  the  boarders'  ?  " 

"Why,  she  works  for  them  all;  it  is 
not  exactly  their  work  she  does." 

"  And  brings  the  water  from  the  well  a 
hundred  yards  off,  and  does  a  little  hay- 
raking  when  times  are  lively  in  August  ? " 
still  further  inquired  Miss  Curtis. 

"  Of  course,  she  must  keep  things  go 
ing,"  was  the  man's  reply. 

"And  makes  butter  to  sell,  and  looks 
after  the  hens  and  chickens,  and  milks  the 
cows  ?  "  continued  the  lady. 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  performs  the  last 
item.  She  wants  to  earn  a  little  herself, 
and  —  " 

"  Fiddlesticks !  "  interrupted  Miss  Curtis. 


212  MISS   CURTIS. 

"  Is  n't  her  husband's  money  hers,  without 
going  to  work  on  her  own  account  ?  You 
want  me  to  help  such  a  woman !  The 
sooner  she  has  her  life-long  vacation  the 
better.  The  next  world  would  n't  amount 
to  much  if  husbands  were  allowed  there ! 
I  might  subscribe  for  a  woman's  paper  for 
her ;  she  could  get  some  sympathy  out  of 
it.  They  are  full  of  labor-saving  stories 
about  marriage,  and  how  to  make  one's 
husband  come  to  terms.  Never  subscribe 
for  them  if  you  are  ever  married  and  want 
peace.  It  is  only  old  maids  who  should 
read  them ;  yet  it  does  not  do  them  much 
good,  after  all,  for  they  always  take  the 
part  of  the  brothers,  and  think  how  their 
sisters-in-law  ought  to  keep  at  it  all  the 
time.  You  know  sisters-in-law  are  not  wo 
men,  unless  you  happen  to  be  one  yourself. 
Olive,  you  had  better  go  and  see  Mrs. 
Jones ; "  and  she  stopped,  tired  by  her  in 
dignant  words. 

"  Perhaps  I  might  be  of  use  in  showing 


HIRED  HELP.  213 

you  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Kimen,  reflectively. 
"  Shall  we  go  now  ?  " 

His  late  disregard  of  Olive  had  put  her 
off  her  guard,  and  she  carelessly  consented. 

"I  am  pleased  to  find  I  can  be  of  ser 
vice  to  you,"  remarked  Mr.  Kiinen  as  they 
went  down  the  road. 

His  grateful  tone  aroused  Olive's  inde 
pendence.  She  could  not  tolerate  his  sub 
serviency  even  in  so  slight  a  matter. 

"  Seems  to  me,  Mr.  Kiraen,  you  are  al 
ways  thinking  whether  you  can  be  of  use, 
instead  of  whether  people  like  you." 

Her  retort  angered  him,  and  he  answered, 
"  Their  liking  depends  on  themselves  more 
than  it  does  upon  me." 

It  was  now  the  girl's  turn  to  flush. 

"  Oh,  you  are  not  such  a  fixed  quantity  ! 
Some  days  you  are  unbearable,  you  are  so 
bent  on  improving  the  world." 

"I  thought  you  liked  to  help  people," 
he  replied,  with  a  slight  emphasis  on  the 
pronoun  "you." 


214  MISS  CURTIS. 

"I  do,"  she  answered;  "but  I  want  to 
make  them  happy  in  their  way,  and  you 
want  to  improve  them  in  your  way.  Every 
body  has  solitary  days  and  gets  tired  of 
being  lonely.  What  people  want  is  sym 
pathy  and  love.  By  and  by  they  may  like 
books  and  ideas;  but  you  try  to  make 
them  care  for  their  minds  more  than  for 
their  hearts." 

"  The  mind  widens  the  heart,"  he  replied 
soberly. 

"You  make  me  think  of  a  friend,"  said 
Olive,  "  who  had  a  bad  father  and  an  anxious 
mother.  They  sent  their  daughter  away 
from  home  to  the  Art  Museum.  She  was 
not  artistic,  but  they  thought  the  influences 
of  art  were  elevating.  She  went  there  daily 
and  tried  to  get  sublime ;  but  the  purer  the 
art  was,  the  lonelier  she  felt.  She  just 
wanted  to  go  and  do  something,  and  she  be 
came  an  Associated  Charities  Visitor  and 
grew  happy ;  and  her  happiness  rested  her 
mother  and  reformed  her  father." 


HIRED  HELP.  215 

Fortunately  they  had  reached  the  house, 
for  Kimen  was  too  adrift  to  reply.  Then 
Olive  bethought  herself  whether  she  should 
ask  for  fresh  butter  or  for  old  furni 
ture  ;  but  with  the  feeble  pretence  of  being 
thirsty  and  liking  well-water  (there  was 
no  other  kind  in  the  village),  she  drew  the 
woman  into  a  conversation. 

"  Don't  I  get  tired  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jones,  on 
being  questioned.  "  Of  course  I  do,  but 
there  ain't  no  help  for  it  when  you  've 
started  in.  It 's  more  than  most  women 
can  do  to  keep  agoing ;  but  I  ain't  one  o' 
the  city  kind,  that  takes  naps." 

"  Can't  you  go  to  bed  early  ? "  asked 
Olive. 

"  Oh,  I  generally  contrive  to  sleep  a  bit 
when  I  'm  mending.     I  gits  used  to  the 
rents  in  the  shirts  and  putting  new  seats, 
into  the  pants.     Socks,  I  just  let  go  till  I 
refoot  'em,  and  that  I  do  'long  't  is  dark." 

"  Your  children  help  you  some  ?  "  asked 
Olive. 


216  MISS   CURTIS. 

"Off  and  on  consider' bl' ;  but  we've  all 
got  a  mother's  feelings,  and  I  don't  like 
to  see  my  girls  a-slaving  round.  I  like 
to  look  at  'em  as  pretty  picters,  and  dress 
'em  up." 

Olive's  interest  suddenly  became  intense 
when  she  discovered  the  tenderness  of  Mrs. 
Jones's  nature. 

"  Still,  you  must  not  do  too  much  your 
self  unless  you  have  help,"  she  argued. 

"Hired  help,  you  mean.  No;  my  hus 
band  thinks  that 's  wasteful.  "When  he 
married  me,  he  didn't  calklate  on  gitting 
a  girl  to  wait  on  me." 

"  I  should  think  you  'd  want  house-help 
just  as  he  has  farm-help." 

"I  suppose  I  might,  if  I  had  been  brought 
up  differently.  You  can't  get  hired  help 
that 's  spry ;  they  all  rather  go  to  the  hotel 
and  earn  more  wages  than  I  can  give  'em. 
Then,  I  don't  git  on  well  with  'em.  It  riles 
me  to  see  help  sitting  down  when  there  's 
a  heap  of  work  to  be  done." 


HIRED  HELP.  217 

"  Each  one  wants  some  time  to  herself," 
interposed  Olive,  on  behalf  of  all  female 
employees. 

"  Well,  it  ain't  accordin'  to  natur'. 
When  I  'm  drove  with  work,  I  want  every 
one  to  git  out  of  my  way  or  else  stir  round 
fast  as  I  do ;  and  since  help 's  got  so  mighty 
contracting  all  you  can  git  in  the  country 
is  widders,  or  worse,  with  their  babies. 
They  are  all  peaked  or  down  in  the  mouth ; 
there 's  no  power  of  work  in  'em  and  no 
staying  put." 

"Yet  you  are  all  worn  out  yourself," 
urged  Olive. 

"  Well,  I  am  nigh  'most  killed  with  work, 
that 's  a  fact ;  but  that  ain't  no  reason  why 
I  don't  want  to  kill  others.  I  don't  want 
my  daughters,  though,  to  lead  my  kind  o' 
life.  I  rather  they  'd  marry  some  of  them 
city  drummers  and  travel  round  with  'em 
and  their  boxes." 

Olive  could  not  quite  comprehend,  any 
better  than  Mr.  Kimen,  this  maternal  fond- 


218  MISS  CURTIS. 

ness  and  this  stolid  endurance  of  conditions, 
which  energy  differently  applied  could 
change.  As  the  two  walked  back  home, 
after  having  drunk  the  well-water,  he 
turned  to  his  companion,  saying, — 

"  There  is  a  case  where  opening  the 
mind  would  make  the  affections  of  more 
worth." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Olive;  and  then,  as  if  she 
were  an  ancient  dame,  she  added  slowly : 
"  I  Ve  often  noticed  how  animal-like  is  a 
mother's  fondness.  She  keeps  her  daugh 
ters  as  she  would  her  lap-dogs ;  she  never 
seems  to  think  that  her  girls  have  got  to 
be  fitted  to  take  care  of  themselves.  I  shall 
tell  Miss  Curtis  that  she  could  send  the 
woman  tonics  to  keep  her  going.  Don't 
you  really  think,  though,  that  it  is  the 
way  women  start  with  their  husbands 
in  the  beginning  that  makes  the  differ 
ence  ?  "  and  Olive  looked  up  in  the  young 
man's  face  as  simply  as  if  he  were  an 
octogenarian. 


HIRED  HELP.  219 

"  Really,  now,  Miss  Cadwallader,  I  have 
never  had  any  experience.  If  I  might  be 
permitted  to  hope  that  you  would  teach 
me,  I  —  " 

Before  he  had  time  to  finish  his  sentence, 
Olive  saw  into  what  a  dilemma  she  had 
betrayed  herself.  Too  wise  to  escape,  or 
to  show  her  suddenly-aroused  conscious 
ness,  she  quietly  entered  the  gate,  which 
they  had  reached,  saying, — 

"I  have  told  you  before,  Mr.  Kimen, 
that  your  habit  of  indulging  in  personalities 
checked  friendship." 

She  closed  the  latch  upon  him,  leaving 
him  on  the  outside,  and  with  an  indifferent 
nod  walked  up  the  cobble-stone  path. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

GOOD-BT. 

THE  next  day  brought  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cad- 
wallader  and  their  son.  Miss  Curtis  had 
sent  for  them  and  lodged  them  at  the  hotel, 
still  keeping  Olive  with  her. 

"  Oh,  Jac-mamma !  "  said  the  girl,  seat 
ing  herself  on  the  broad  arm  of  the  rocking- 
chair  in  which  her  mother  was  resting, 
and  pulling  out  the  few  gray  hairs  which 
showed  themselves  on  Mrs.  Cadwallader's 
forehead,  "  don't  you  want  to  matronize 
me  ?  Miss  Curtis  treats  me  as  if  I  were  a 
responsible  being,  and  asks  my  advice,  and 
Mr.  Kimen  doesn't  want  me  to  be  frivo 
lous  ;  and  I  am  tired ! " 

"Is  he  going  to  succeed?"  asked  her 
mother. 


GOOD-BY.  221 

"  Never ;  and  I  am  tired  of  telling  him 
so,  and  I  don't  know  what 's  the  matter  with 
me,  and  I  want  to  cry." 

"  Had  an  offer,  Olive  ?  "  said  Owen,  com 
ing  out  from  the  deep  window-seat,  which 
had  so  hidden  him  from  view  that  his  sis 
ter  had  forgotten  he  was  present. 

"  Only  half  an  one,"  answered  she, 
saucily. 

"That's  honest,  anyhow,"  replied  her 
brother.  "  I  wish  more  girls  could  see  the 
difference  between  attentions  and  intentions. 
"We  fellows  can  afford  to  be  very  free  with 
the  first,  but  it  takes  capital  to  be  serious. 
What  is  there  to  do  here,  —  any  pretty 
girls,  or  trout-fishing?" 

"  You  '11  find  yourself  caught  before  you 
catch,  if  you  try  any  society  dodges,"  said 
his  sister. 

"  Don't  lecture,  Olive.  I  have  improved. 
I  'm  not  going  to  be  a  snob  and  snub  any 
one.  I  'm  going  to  rusticate  here  awhile, 
and  save  up  money  enough  to  go  off  and 


222  MISS  CURTIS. 

have  a  good  time.  It 's  the  bother  of  an 
allowance,  that  parents  don't  permit  them 
selves  any  little  pecuniary  gifts  to  help  a 
fellow  out ;  they  are  stern,  and  make  you 
live  within  the  limits,  or  go  without." 

Owen  measured  with  his  eye  the  distance 
between  the  low  balcony  and  the  ground, 
vaulted  over,  and  was  out  of  sight  round  the 
corner.  Somehow  his  sister  felt  relieved. 
His  free  speech  or  his  want  of  earnestness 
jarred  upon  her.  For  weeks  she  had  been 
identifying  herself  with  Miss  Curtis's  in 
terests,  and  the  interposition  of  another 
set  of  claims  was  too  sudden  to  be  wel 
come. 

As  she  and  her  mother  strolled  over  the 
fields,  she  told  Mrs.  Cadwallader  of  her  un 
defined  anxieties,  which  shaped  themselves 
chiefly  into  a  fear  that  Miss  Curtis  was 
growing  very  old.  Olive  parted  with  her 
mother  at  that  lady's  door,  and  continued 
her  solitary  walk  along  the  river-bank.  She 
turned  into  a  by-path  she  had  never  before 


GOOD-BY.  223 

noticed,  drawn  onward  by  the  fragrance  of 
the  hay-mounds.  Looking  up,  she  found 
her  way  barred  by  a  honeysuckle  hedge 
enclosing  a  little  clearing,  where  grew  huge 
clusters  of  white  dahlias  and  beds  of  pan- 
sies  and  myrtles.  The  pine  woods  beyond, 
carpeted  with  bunch-berries,  rustled  with 
the  soughing  winds  of  death.  She  was  sure 
Miss  Curtis  called  her ;  but  it  was  the  voice 
of  Mr.  Kimen,  who,  unseen,  had  come  from 
the  other  end  of  the  woods.  She  at  once 
felt  protected  by  his  presence,  and  he  saw 
that  at  last  he  was  welcome. 

"  Who  lies  there  ?  "  she  asked,  pointing 
to  the  shining  mounds. 

"Miss  Curtis's  father  and  mother;  an 
old  man  told  me  so  whom  I  met  in  the 
woods  yesterday,"  he  answered. 

The  girl  crossed  her  arms  and  drew  in 
her  shoulders,  thus  shrinking  away  from  the 
host  of  dim  memories  which,  invoked  by 
those  woods,  surrounded  her.  Then,  as  if 
she  would  send  the  touch  of  human  love 


224  MISS   CURTIS. 

into  their  graves,  she  plucked  a  pansy  and 
fastened  it  in  her  dress.  Moved  by  sub 
tile  sympathy  she  bent  again,  gathered 
another,  and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Kimen. 
Silently  they  turned  back  into  the  sunlit 
pathway. 

"Miss  Cadwallader,  you  have  faith  in 
me  ?  "  said  he,  after  several  minutes. 

"Entire,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"But  you  do  not  put  your  trust  in  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered  as  briefly. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  you  are  not  yet  grown." 

"Yet  you  have  faith?" 

"Yes;  for  I  know  you  will  do  what  you 
think  right,  though  your  idea  of  right  may 
not  be  mine.  If  we  agreed,  it  would  be 
trust;  faith  applies  to  character,  trust  to 
person." 

"  Shall  I  ever  convince  you  ?  " 

"Never." 

"  Will  you  ever  convince  me  ?  " 

"Yes." 


GOOD-BY.  225 

"Of  what?" 

"  That  life  is  beautiful,  that  love  is  free 
dom,  that  truth  is  sympathy,  that  hap 
piness  is  the  fulfilment  of  growth,"  she 
answered  impetuously. 

"  Miss  —  Olive,  —  life  is  hard ;  love  is 
bondage ;  truth  is  weary  search ;  happiness 
cannot  be  reached  here." 

"  Mr.  Kimen,  dear  Mr.  Kimen  ! "  —  the 
man  started,  but  her  intensity  was  too  im 
personal  for  him  to  be  misled  by  it, —  "  you 
are  all  wrong;  you  are  great,  noble,  but 
you  want  to  hold  the  solution  of  every 
mystery  in  your  open  palm,  and  let  us  read 
it  as  in  a  book.  We  want  to  sing  as  we  go 
along,  or  else  lie  cradled  in  reverent  trust. 
You  would  explain,  improve ;  we  would 
wait  and  watch.  You  have  taken  the 
world  into  your  keeping;  we  have  asked 
God  to  let  us  help  Him.  Mr.  Kimen," 
and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  it  and  looked  upon  it,  perhaps 
reading  the  future  in  its  lines.  He  folded 

15 


226  MISS   CURTIS. 

his  left  hand  over  it,  as  if  he  would  cherish 
it  forever,  and  said,  "  Olive  !  " 

"  Good-by,  dear  Mr.  Kimen." 

"  Good-by,  dear  Olive." 

He  lifted  her  hand  as  if  he  would  kiss  it, 
but  stopped  and  placed  his  own  upon  her 
head.  She  gazed  up  into  his  eyes  trust 
ingly.  He  stooped  and  took  the  pansy 
from  her  button-hole,  methodically  drew 
out  his  pocket-book,  and  placed  the  flower 
inside.  He  shut  it  and  put  it  back  in  his 
pocket  very  slowly,  Olive  still  gazing  at 
him. 

"  Forever,  Olive  ?  "  he  asked  in  question 
ing  tone. 

"Forever,"  she  answered  solemnly. 

He  stepped  backwards,  backwards,  for 
he  could  not  lose  her  from  his  sight,  while 
she  stood  with  folded  hands  and  bowed 
head,  waiting.  The  path  turned  and  he 
was  hid  from  her  sight.  Still  she  stood 
there.  Did  he  mean  that  he  would  keep 
her  pansy  forever,  or  did  he  mean  that  he 


GOOD-BY.  227 

had  bid  her  good-by  forever?  What  had 
she  meant  ?  She  knew  not  how  to  answer 
her  own  questions,  and  a  rush  of  sorrow  or 
compassion  swept  over  her. 

The  moon  was  rising  when  Olive  re 
turned  home.  She  found  her  father  and 
mother  still  talking  with  Miss  Curtis,  and 
by  the  way  in  which  her  father  drew  her 
to  his  side  she  knew  they  had  been  talking 
of  her.  She  rested  again  in  the  safest  love 
a  girl  ever  knows,  —  her  father's. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AFTEE-THOUGHTS. 

IT  took  Mr.  Kimen  a  long  while  to  re 
adjust  his  equanimity.  Olive  had  shown 
her  disapproval  of  him ;  he  had  been 
roused  out  of  his  own  notion  of  duty,  but 
had  had  no  facts  given  him  to  tabulate. 
He  had  not  been  playing  any  game,  yet  he 
had  a  vague  sense  of  loss ;  that  he  had 
missed  opportunity.  Opportunity  for  what  ? 
He  and  Olive  had  not  quarrelled ;  friends 
often  say  good-by  when  they  are  to  meet 
the  next  day.  He  was  a  great  deal  older 
than  she ;  it  ought  to  have  been  a  privilege 
for  her  to  be  associated  with  a  man  like 
himself,  devoted  to  high  pursuits.  Yet 
she  had  found  him  tiresome.  He  tried  to 
find  fault  with  her  to  himself,  but  he  could 


AFTER-THOUGHTS.  229 

not.  He  had  seen  too  much  of  her  daily 
home-life  not  to  recognize  that  she  was 
perpetually  making  other  people  happy, — 
doing  the  little  chores  of  friendship  which 
take  off  the  burden  of  petty  cares  from 
others.  That  she  did  all  this  without  any 
sense  of  self-sacrifice  or  self-justification 
was  a  real,  personal  grievance  to  him. 

He  had  seldom  seen  her  read  or  percepti 
bly  improve  her  mind,  yet  she  was  always 
able  to  relate  events  to  causes,  and  could 
penetrate  the  inner  consciousness  of  an 
author  without  believing  that  his  charac 
ters  and  incidents  were  necessarily  drawn 
from  real  life. 

It  provoked  him  that  she  was  happy. 
He  felt  a  ghoulish  pleasure  in  thinking  that 
she  would  see  things  differently  whenever 
she  was  brought  face  to  face  with  the  death 
of  a  dear  friend.  It  angered  him  still  more, 
that  he  knew  she  felt  he  was  lacking  in 
grace  of  mind  and  character,  and  that  she 
did  not  consider  that  his  earnestness  atoned 


230  MISS  CURTIS. 

for  his  being  tiresome.  He  knew,  too,  that 
she  saw  he  was  always  making  himself  up ; 
that  he  was  always  prying  out  some  unre 
cognized  factor  which  was  to  benefit  man 
kind.  He  felt  that  she,  young  as  she  was, 
had  already  attained  results  in  rectifying 
other  people's  lives  which  he,  with  all  his 
serious  consideration  of  their  affairs,  had 
not  reached. 

Over  all  his  mortification  and  sense  of 
failure  was  the  feeling  of  loss.  He  had 
met  a  human  soul  which  could  have  shone 
into  his  life,  and  he  had  been  too  preoccupied 
to  make  room  for  it.  Now  he  was  lonely. 
He  had  dreamed  for  months  of  being  her 
guide,  had  held  her  hand,  had  touched  her 
hair !  What  did  it  avail  ?  She  ought  to 
need  him;  she  only  cared  for  him  imper 
sonally.  He  would  have  taken  her  as  a 
holy  cause  and  battled  for  her ;  but  he  had 
missed  the  power  of  her  sweet  brightness, 
and  she  had  missed  the  power  of  his  pur 
pose,  —  a  purpose  so  set  that  it  would  hurt 


AFTER-THOUGHTS.  231 

its  own  friend  rather  than  not  hew  out  the 
accomplishment  of  its  truth.  He  knew, 
too,  that  their  purposes  were  alike ;  both 
lived  for  others,  only  their  ways  were  so 
different  that  the  likeness  in  purpose  was 
hidden. 

He  knew  that  never  again  could  the 
sense  of  failure  press  upon  him  so  heavily  ; 
that  never  again  could  the  abnegation  of 
personal  love  raise  him  to  such  a  height 
of  renunciation  as  to  leave  her  whom  he 
needed,  rather  than  to  insist  upon  appro 
priating  her.  He  remembered  how  she 
had  stood  before  him,  radiant  in  her  grace 
ful  earnestness.  He  tried  to  classify  his 
impressions  for  the  future  benefit  of  others. 
It  was  impossible ;  nothing  came  clearly 
before  him  but  his  lonely,  working  life, 
and  the  longing  to  make  her  work  with 
him. 

He  lingered  in  the  village  two  or  three 
days,  not  even  attempting  to  see  her.  He 
wished  to  do  nothing  in  a  hurry,  yet  knew 


232  MISS   CURTIS. 

he  had  nothing  to  do.  A  sense  of  decent 
gratitude  and  civility  made  him  mindful  of 
his  obligation  to  Miss  Curtis.  He  went  to 
pay  his  farewell  respects  to  her. 

His  presence  during  his  summer  visit 
had  acted  like  a  nettle-rash  upon  her,  and 
stung  her  with  a  constant  desire  to  aggra 
vate  him.  Whatever  elderly  fondness  she 
had  cherished  for  him  had  dwindled  into  a 
wish  to  think  kindly  of  him  at  a  distance. 

"  I  'm  going  to  see  my  mother,"  said  he 
to  Miss  Curtis,  when  he  called. 

"It  is  high  time  you  cultivated  her 
affections,"  she  answered. 

"  I  have  never  neglected  her.  I  have 
tried  to  do  my  duty.  I  am  her  son,"  he 
replied. 

"Mothers  don't  value  forced  affections. 
It  is  mortifying  to  have  to  be  loved  on  ac 
count  of  relationship.  How  long  shall  you 
be  gone  ? " 

"  I  may  not  come  back  again.  Just  now 
in  my  studies  there  is  a  phase  of  life 


AFTER-THOUGHTS.  233 

which  I  think  it  might  be  useful  for  me  to 
study,  —  the  community  side,  —  and  I  pro 
pose  to  make  an  examination  of  it." 

"  Lots  of  failures  have  been  buried  in 
communities,"  remarked  Miss  Curtis. 

"  I  agree  with  you ;  and  I  want  to  study 
them  so  that  I  can  better  comprehend  the 
life  of  the  individual,  and  be  able  to  aid  the 
world." 

"  Is  he  an  idiot  ? "  thought  Miss  Curtis 
as  she  shook  hands  with  him,  half  sorry 
to  lose  from  her  own  circle  such  a  constant 
spur  to  her  mental  reflections  upon  the  use- 
lessness  of  philanthropic  desire  without  cor 
responding  executive  ability. 

It  was  evident  to  Olive  that  Miss  Curtis 
was  glad  Mr.  Kimen  had  gone,  though  she 
wondered  why  her  aunt  was  relieved.  That 
lady,  however,  did  not  feel  wholly  at  ease. 
Olive  had  somehow  eluded  her  comprehen 
sion.  She  had  rejoiced  in  the  girl's  power 
of  reserve,  but  she  did  not  wish  it  exer 
cised  upon  herself.  Her  plans  were  made. 


234  MISS  CURTIS. 

There  had  been  hours,  and  latterly  mo 
ments,  when  she  thought  they  might  be 
put  into  action. 

At  twilight  —  for  she  had  been  too  feeble 
through  the  week  to  take  her  usual  sunset 
walk  —  she  called  Olive  to  her  side. 

"  Child,  what  is  this  new  notion  of  Ki- 
men's  about  going  into  a  community  ?  " 

Olive  looked  surprised. 

"Don't  you  know  about  it?"  asked  her 
aunt. 

"  No,"  answered  the  girl ;  "  I  supposed 
he  was  still  going  to  study." 

"  He  's  going  to  try  life  in  the  aggre 
gate  ;  but  he  won't  resolve  it  any  better," 
said  Miss  Curtis. 

"  Poor  Mr.  Kimen,"  replied  Olive ;  "  I  am 
so  sorry  for  him,  and  —  so  sorry  for  myself." 

"  What 's  the  trouble,  child  ?  " 

"  Nothing ;  only  he  is  n't  agreeable  to 
me,  and  yet  I  like  him  so  much.  He  won't 
take  my  advice,  he  won't  keep  his  beard 
short,  and  yet  when  it  is  trimmed,  he  looks 


AFTER-THOUGHTS.  235 

like  an  apotheosized  apostle  in  a  revela 
tion  ; "  and  she  sighed. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  him  to  cut  it  ?  " 

"  That 's  just  it,  aunt.  There  is  no  way 
of  making  him  do  frivolous  things.  He 
lifts  you  up  on  the  heights,  because  it  seems 
grand  to  live  for  ideas  and  wish  to  benefit 
mankind ;  but  then  you  collapse  and  want 
to  wear  pretty  gowns,  and  he  can't  follow 
you,  and  you  can't  have  sympathy  with  dic 
tionaries  all  the  time ;  he  is  always  explain 
ing  what  things  mean,  and  never  listening. 
If  he  went  sailing,  he  would  do  all  the  work ; 
he  'd  never  lie  over  the  bow  and  look  down 
into  the  water  and  do  nothing." 

"  He  is  very  good,"  said  Miss  Curtis, 
apologetically. 

"Yes,  very  good,"  assented  Olive,  "and 
not  conceited ;  but  there  is  neither  poetry 
nor  ability  in  him  yet.  If  he  had  one  or 
the  other,  I  would  n't  mind.  He  is  the 
kind  that  could  have  a  sunstroke  and  not 
know  it  was  the  sun  which  hurt  him." 


236  MISS  CURTIS. 

"  Philanthropists  who  don't  do  any  good 
are  generally  impervious,"  answered  Miss 
Curtis.  "  But  it  is  n't  their  fault ;  they  are 
born  weather-beaten." 

"  I  should  n't  think  he  could  be  any  com 
fort  to  his  mother,"  said  Olive,  reflectively. 
"  Yet,  aunt,  I  was  so  sorry  for  him  that 
I  almost  loved  him.  I  never  liked  him.  I 
wanted  him  to  be  happy ;  but  he  never 
could  see  the  stars  were  shining,  for  there 
were  so  many  clouds  in  his  way.  I  wish  I 
could  feel  as  sublime  as  he  did ;  it  must 
be  splendid." 

It  was  Miss  Curtis  who  sighed. 

"It  might  have  been  better  for  you 
two  if  you  could  have  got  on  together,"  she 
said. 

Olive  thought  of  the  white  dahlias,  and 
of  the  two  who  lay  beneath  the  myrtle 
mounds ;  of  her  own  father  and  mother ; 
of  Mr.  Kimen's  hand  upon  her  head,  and 
wondered  if  love  meant  getting  on  together. 
Aloud  she  answered,  — 


AFTER-THOUGHTS.  237 

"  We  could  n't,  as  things  are  now.  "We 
did  n't  agree  about  anything.  He  wished 
to  be  in  a  state  of  perpetual  consciousness 
that  he  had  a  great  subject  in  his  mind, 
and  so  he  would  forget  to  brush  his  coat. 
And  I  want  my  dress  to  fit  well ;  and  then 
it  is  fun  to  surprise  people  by  making  them 
happy.  There  are  so  many  little  ways 
of  doing  it,  that  it  keeps  me  jumping  up 
all  the  time.  Aunt  Curtis  —  "  And  Olive 
pushed  the  crochet-needle  into  the  afghan 
which  she  always  carried  with  her  to  work 
upon  at  twilight,  and  on  which  she  made  no 
perceptible  progress. 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Curtis,  with  a  pleased 
accent. 

"  I  've  got  to  see  him  again,"  spoke  Olive. 

"  When  ?  "  asked  her  aunt,  with  a  sudden, 
anxious  change  of  voice. 

"  When  he  is  younger  and  I  am  older. 
I  want  to  see  if  he  changes." 

"  And  if  he  does  not  ?  "  questioned  the 
elder  lady. 


238  MISS  CURTIS. 

"Then  I  would  rather  go  down  with 
the  sun  alone ;  "  and  Olive  pointed  to  the 
golden  streaks  which  necked  the  sky  as  the 
upper  edge  of  the  great  amber  ball  sank 
below  the  western  hills. 

"  He  will  never  change,"  said  Miss  Curtis 
to  herself. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

LITTLE    MAMMA. 

ANOTHER  week  had  gone  in  an  unusual 
round  of  picnics,  furnished  with  pretty 
girls,  Wisteria  wood-plates,  Japanese  nap 
kins,  transparent  sandwiches,  and  coffee  in 
tumblers,  which  had  satisfied  even  Owen's 
sense  of  nineteenth-century  civilization. 
He,  however,  considered  country  dances  as 
too  unconventional,  and  requiring  a  great 
deal  of  labor  from  a  young  man.  He  much 
preferred  his  Boston  slide,  which  left  all  the 
work  to  his  partner.  Olive,  having  once 
introduced  him,  was  scarcely  surprised  to 
find  how  soon  he  knew  the  girls  and  their 
points  better  than  she  herself.  She,  how 
ever,  found  it  pleasanter  to  stay  with  her 
mother  or  her  aunt  than  to  be  on  the  alert 


240  MISS   CURTIS. 

for  a  joke  or  a  repartee,  as  is  expected 
at  social  festivals,  or  else  one  is  accused 
of  being  out  of  sorts. 

As  Miss  Curtis  had  not  come  down  to 
fea  one  evening,  Olive  had  carried  up  to 
her  the  thin  slices  of  bread-and-butter,  the 
Scotch  marmalade,  and  the  tete-a-tete  set  of 
her  aunt's  childhood.  Miss  Curtis  tried  to 
care  for  what  was  set  before  her,  for  Olive's 
sake ;  but  she  wearily  pushed  back  the 
waiter,  and  the  girl  curled  herself  up  on  an 
ottoman  at  her  aunt's  feet,  ready  for  a  talk. 
The  two  were  silent  for  a  long  while.  Sud 
denly  the  quiet  was  broken  by  the  sharp 
sound  of  Miss  Curtis' s  voice. 

"After  all,  child,  you  had  better  marry 
before  either  of  your  parents  die,  or  things 
get  mixed.  It  is  lonely,  when  you  come 
to  your  end,  not  to  know  that  some  one 
person  cares  more  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
world.  Besides,  it  is  an  advantage  to  have 
your  life  run  in  a  rut  and  know  what  your 
duty  is." 


LITTLE  MAMMA.  241 

"  Is  n't  there  duty  outside  of  marriage  as 
well  as  inside  ?  "  asked  Olive. 

"  Yes ;  but  when  it  is  outside,  it  is  like 
picking  berries  in  scattered  spots.  Half  of 
life  is  knowing  just  what  to  do,  not  floun 
dering  about." 

"  It  is  strange,"  answered  the  girl,  "  that 
the  easier  half,  the  energy  to  do,  comes 
when  you  are  young,  before  you  know 
what  to  do." 

"  Mistaken  duty,  child,  is  forgetting  that 
the  Devil  keeps  the  account  against  the 
Almighty,"  replied  Miss  Curtis. 

"  Jac-mamma  says  that  the  Almighty 
never  gives  us  complex  fractions  for  sums, 
if  we  did  but  know  it." 

"He  doesn't,  child,  he  doesn't.  He 
gave  me  a  simple  sum,  but  I  could  not 
do  it.  I  counted  by  hobbies,  and  the  Al 
mighty  by  purpose." 

The  shadows  deepened,  as  Olive  pon 
dered  on  these  words.  Was  Mr.  Kimen 
incarnate  purpose,  and  herself  a  will-o'- 

16 


242  3/755   CURTIS. 

the-wisp  riding  hobbies?  At  last  Miss 
Curtis  spoke,  as  if  she  were  thinking  aloud  : 
"Hobbies  are  only  pretences  for  having 
your  own  way ;  purpose  is  the  Almighty's 
education." 

She  paused ;  but  as  if  spurred  by  some 
sudden  emotion,  she  spoke  again  in  sharper 
voice. 

"Co-education,  female  colleges,  and  all 
the  new  devices  for  getting  into  the  king 
dom  of  heaven  are  hobbies  :  the  age  is  pre 
destined  to  them;  they  will  be  its  ruin. 
They  are  devil's  claws,  they  are  mirages, 
they  tear  out  your  heart,  they  lead  you 
astray.  Be  womanly,  child  !  Be  frivolous, 
be  frivolous ! " 

"  I  would  rather  be  happy,  aunt,  because 
some  one  needs  me,"  answered  Olive, 
cheerily. 

Miss  Curtis  did  not  seem  to  notice  her, 
and  continued :  "  If  you  are  astride  a 
hobby,  child,  you  are  in  too  great  a  hurry 
in  reaching  your  own  special  end  to  know 


LITTLE  MAMMA.  243 

when  some  one  needs  you.  Being  cared 
for  because  you  have  money,  or  because 
some  one  is  grateful  for  what  has  been 
done  for  him,  makes  one  very  lonely.  It 
is  a  blessing,  Olive,  to  be  loved  for 
yourself  alone.  Gratitude  is  nothing  but 
mortgages." 

Was  Miss  Curtis  sad,  or  sardonic,  this 
evening  ?  Olive  could  not  tell.  Again  the 
hush  fell  between  the  two.  Miss  Curtis's 
voice  was  very  gloomy  when  she  next 
spoke. 

"  It  is  very  lonely,  child,  when  memory 
pays  the  debt  which  one  owes  to  love. 
Better  put  your  investments  in  live-stock 
at  once,  than  trust  to  memory  for  an 
income." 

Miss  Curtis  clasped  and  unclasped  the 
silver  mountings  of  the  dark-blue  velvet 
bag  which  she  always  wore  at  her  waist. 
Olive  laid  her  hand  upon  the  nervous 
fingers  and  held  them,  saying,  — 

"  Aunt,  tell  me  what  it  is  ?  " 


244  MISS   CURTIS. 

Such  a  look  of  weariness  deepened  on 
the  dear  old  face  that  Olive  wished  she 
had  not  asked  her,  and  she  buried  her 
sunny  head  in  the  lady's  lap  as  if  bowed 
with  the  glimpse  before  her  of  aged  grief 
and  bitterness.  Slowly  Miss  Curtis  with 
drew  her  hands,  and  laying  them  on  the 
girl's  head,  lifted  it. 

"  Look  at  this,  child,"  and  she  drew  out 
a  letter  from  her  bag.  "  When  I  die,  put 
this  under  my  cheek,  —  the  right  cheek,  — 
and  bury  it  with  me." 

"Yes,  aunt." 

"Do  you  know  you  have  never  kissed 
me  there  ?  "  said  Miss  Curtis,  touching  her 
own  cheek. 

"Yes,  aunt." 

"Well,  child,  forty-five  years  ago  he 
touched  it,  and  here  is  his  letter.  He  is 
waiting  for  me  now.  I  shall  see  him 
before  it  is  morning." 

Olive  started. 

"  Where  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 


LITTLE  MAMMA.  245 

"  Hush,  hush,  child!  "  bade  the  old  lady ; 
"  you  disturb  him.  It  is  very  quiet ;  it  is 
dark." 

"  When  did  you  get  it,  aunt  —  to- 
day?" 

"  The  letter  is  yellow,  child,  but  the  en 
velope  is  white  and  clean." 

"  Yes,  aunt ;  but  it  is  not  post-marked  !  " 

"  His  envelope  is  inside  this  one,"  an 
swered  Miss  Curtis,  smiling  tenderly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Olive ;  "  but  the  outside  one 
says,  if  not  delivered  within  ten  days  to 
return  it  to  you." 

"  It  is  not  a  joke,"  replied  Miss  Curtis, 
grimly.  "I  took  my  business  envelope 
and  stamped  it,  that  if  I  lost  it  I  might 
find  it  again.  When  did  I  get  it?  Oh, 
ten,  twenty,  —  twenty-six  years  ago  the 
26th  of  August." 

Olive  trembled. 

"  It  seemed  longer  ago  last  fall,"  added 
Miss  Curtis,  "  than  it  does  now.  It  will 
soon  be  over." 


246  MISS  CURTIS. 

"  Was  he  your  husband  —  I  mean,  were 
you  engaged  to  him  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Did  you  both  love  each  other  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Tell  me  of  it,  aunt." 

"  I  've  got  to  go  back  to  before  I  was 
born.  Olive,  thank  the  Lord  that  the  past 
is  largely  accountable  for  me ;  all  my  sins 
are  not  wholly  of  my  own  causing.  But  I 
owe  nothing  to  the  future ;  my  faults  can't 
be  transmitted.  Heredity  is  the  great  title- 
holder.  Folks  are  just  beginning  to  see 
the  advantages  of  being  born  without  en 
cumbrances  of  bad  inheritance." 

" '  The  sins  of  the  fathers  shall  be  vis 
ited  upon  the  children  unto  the  third 
and  fourth  generation/  "  repeated  Olive, 
thoughtfully. 

"  Calvinism,"  answered  Miss  Curtis,  "  be 
lieved  that  of  the  masses,  and  laid  it  all  on 
to  Adam.  It  is  only  as  we  have  taken  the 
Bible  as  an  allegory,  as  a  picture-book,  as 


LITTLE  MAMMA.  247 

poetry,  that  we  know  its  truth  fits  each 
person.  Pull  up  the  curtain,  child,  it  is 
getting  darker.  I  want  to  see  when  I  talk. 
It  is  a  long  story." 

Olive  did  as  she  was  bid,  came  back 
to  her  seat,  and  timidly  touched  the  bag 
to  which  Miss  Curtis  had  restored  the 
letter. 

"  Olive  Cadwallader,"  she  began,  "  I 
never  was  a  girl ;  I  never  had  any  girlhood ; 
I  don't  know  what  it  means.  It  is  no  mat 
ter  now.  I  was  born  a  woman.  No  one 
ever  told  me  that  I  was  good-looking. 
People  never  said  they  were  glad  to  see  me. 
I  was  always  in  the  way ;  I  ran  on  errands 
all  the  time.  I  was  sent  to  school  and  wore 
old-fashioned  dresses,  which  made  the  girls 
avoid  me.  I  never  got  on  in  my  lessons,  I 
was  so  frightened." 

"  Didn't  you  have  a  mother?"  asked 
Olive,  gently. 

"  Yes,  people  always  do ;  but  my  mother 
was  a  wife.  She  married  unto  the  Lord, 


248  MISS   CURTIS. 

and  she  minded  her  husband.  She  died 
when  I  was  a  little  girl." 

"  Don't  you  remember  her  ?  " 

Miss  Curtis  shuddered. 

"  Yes,  I  remember  her  well.  One  mem 
ory  has  been  my  curse,  because  I  used  to 
wish  she  were  pretty,  like  other  girls'  moth 
ers.  It  crazes  me  to  think  of  it.  She  was 
very  thin,  and  she  never  wore  any  pretty 
clothes,  and  her  wrists  were  brown  and 
bony.  She  seemed  all  lines,  and  her  hair 
—  that  was  beautiful.  She  twisted  it  so 
hard  that  it  never  came  down,  for  she 
had  no  time  to  put  it  up ;  her  life  was 
all  work.  Only  when  father  went  away, 
then  —  we  loved  each  other !  I  sat  in  her 
lap  whole  days,  just  resting ;  and  we  'd 
go  to  bed  early,  just  to  put  our  arms 
round  each  other,  and  she  would  hold  me 
close,  and  I  'd  take  down  her  hair  and  braid 
it  into  mine;  and  we  'd  lay  awake  all  night, 
and  she  would  never  be  tired ;  and  she  'd 
call  me  her  baby,  her  darling,  and  she  was 


LITTLE  MAMMA.  249 

my  little  mamma.  She  taught  me  hymns 
and  crooned  me  melodies.  When  father 
came  home,  he  was  always  round ;  and  she 
did  not  dare  to  love  me,  and  we'd  shell 
peas  for  dinner  without  speaking. 

"  Sometimes  I  could  find  a  flower  she 
liked,  —  a  pansy  ;  but  she  'd  hide  it  inside 
her  dress  so  father  could  n't  even  smell  it. 
Well  —  she  died.  I  heard  them  say,  one 
day,  she  was  going,  and  that  it  was  a  pity 
father  was  away,  and  that  they  must  keep 
me  out  of  the  room.  But  I  went  round  on 
the  shed  and  got  in  at  the  window  and  lay 
down  by  her,  and  hid  inside  the  sheets  and 
pretended  to  be  asleep.  She  put  her  hand 
into  mine,  and  I  heard  them  say,  6  Come  in 
and  look  at  her.'  They  came  in,  and  said 
that  she  was  sleeping  quietly,  and  they 
guessed  she  might  live  a  spell  longer, 
though  't  was  a  pity  ;  and  that  they  would 
stay  in  the  next  room  and  come  in  once  in 
a  while.  We  didn  't  move  till  they  were 
gone,  and  then  she  pulled  me  up  close  to 


250  MISS  CURTIS. 

her  and  whispered,  l  Be  good,  little  girl, 
no  matter  what  comes.'  And  I  told  her 
I  'd  help  her  die,  so  it  would  n't  hurt ;  and 
she  crawled  down  a  little  and  put  her  head 
on  my  shoulder,  and  I  put  both  my  arms 
round  her  and  held  her  tight." 

"  And  then,"  said  Olive,  faintly. 

"  They  took  me  from  her  in  the  morning ; 
and  there  was  a  funeral,  and  —  father  had 
a  great  deal  to  do." 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

HOBBIES. 

THE  hush  had  lasted  until  Olive  became 
alarmed.  She  was  only  a  girl,  and  she  did 
not  know  how  long  the  aged  can  sit  in 
silence. 

"Aunt  Curtis,  are  you  asleep?"  she 
asked. 

"  Mamma,  little  mamma ! "  murmured  the 
lady. 

"  Aunt  Curtis,  dear  Aunt  Curtis ! "  ex 
claimed  Olive,  starting  up  and  bending 
over  her  just  in  time  to  catch  the  smile 
which  had  made  the  elderly  face  as  trust 
ing  as  a  child's. 

Miss  Curtis  opened  her  eyes  and  looked 
round  expectantly.  No  one  was  there  but 
Olive  and  herself.  Slowly  she  seemed  to 
remember  where  she  was. 


252  AfISS   CURTIS. 

"  Are  you  tired,  aunt  ?  Don't  you  want 
to  lie  down  ?  " 

"  No,  child  ;  what  was  I  telling  you  ?  " 

"  You  grew  up  to  be  a  big  girl,  aunt ;  you 
and  your  father  lived  together?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  lived  with  him.  We  are 
set  in  families  when  we  begin.  I  don't 
remember  much,  except  that  it  was  doing 
duty  all  the  time.  It  was  restraint,  sacri 
fice.  I  was  taken  care  of  somehow.  I 
believe  we  had  a  housekeeper.  She  was. 
active  like  father,  and  I  was  always  afraid 
to  cry  lest  they  would  hear  me.  At  last 
I  could  n't  bear  it  longer.  It  was  in 
mother's  chamber ;  there  was  one  of  those 
Goliaths  in  the  room." 

"  <  Goliaths ' !  "  repeated  Olive. 

"  That  is  what  we  called  those  chests  in 
two  parts ;  two  sets  of  narrow  drawers  on 
top,  and  three  or  four  long  drawers,  the 
width  of  the  chest,  below.  It  was  divided 
when  a  family  broke  up  or  sold  out.  That 
is  half  of  it  now,"  said  Miss  Curtis,  pointing 


HOBBIES.  253 

to  a  piece  of  rich  mahogany  with  brass  or 
naments.  "  I  put  my  hand  on  it,  right  in 
the  middle  where  it  separated,  and  talked 
to  father,  —  I  in  my  petty  spite  at  life  and 
him,  and  he  in  his  sternness  and  might  of 
self-denial !  I  told  him  that  he  had  no 
right  to  give  me  birth  and  then  take  all 
the  pleasure  out  of  life ;  that  it  was  duty 
from  morning  to  night ;  that  he  gave  away 
all  the  good  things  on  the  farm,  and  that 
we  lived  on  Indian  meal  till  I  was  crushed; 
that  there  was  not  a  pretty  thing  in  the 
house,  because  the  money  had  gone  to  help 
some  widow;  that  there  was  no  time,  be 
cause  it  was  all  spent  for  others ;  that 
there  was  no  love,  because  something  al 
ways  had  to  be  done.  I  had  no  idea  of 
running  away,  for  there  was  nowhere  to  go ; 
but  I  told  him  that  I  hated  him.  Olive, 
I  have  been  undoing  those  words  fifty-six 
years ;  they  '11  be  undone  soon." 

The  girl  shivered. 

"  Are  you  cold  ?  "  asked  Miss  Curtis,  with 


254  MISS  CURTIS. 

a  contempt  in  her  tone  which  was  meant 
for  herself  more  than  for  Olive. 

"No." 

"Nor  sleepy?" 

"No." 

"  It  is  n't  a  pleasant  story." 

"  Aunt,  I  can't  bear  it !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  can  !  It  is  n't  you  who 
said  it.  It  is  I — to  my  own  father.  There 
he  stood,  thin,  weak,  old;  his  forehead 
seemed  to  denounce  me ;  his  eyes  under 
neath  it  burned  me.  He  had  given  all  his 
life  to  others ;  it  had  killed  my  mother,  — 
that  was  no  matter ;  the  world  was  to  be 
helped,  and  he  had  helped  east  and  west, 
north  and  south.  He  had  been  missionary 
and  teacher,  a  wanderer  and  a  farmer;  and 
in  all,  the  burden  of  the  Lord  had  been 
upon  him.  I,  his  child,  could  comprehend 
neither  his  personal  devotion,  nor  his  ab 
sorption  in  causes,  nor  his  interest  in  the 
conversion  of  others.  His  father  had  left 
him  property,  and  he  had  added  to  it ;  for 


HOBBIES.  255 

with  all  his  zeal  he  knew  how  to  make 
money.  But  for  every  dollar  he  made  he 
labored  to  save  a  soul ;  he  cared  for  wealth 
only  as  means.  There  were  no  poor  sin 
ners  for  miles  around  whom  he  did  not 
support,  that  it  might  give  him  a  claim  on 
them  to  send  them  tracts;  and  I  com 
plained  because  I  had  not  been  petted, 
when  the  world  needed  to  be  helped !  Oh, 
Lord  !  "  and  Miss  Curtis  trembled. 

"Your  father  ?  "  asked  Olive. 

"I  don't  remember.  Now  I  can  see  that 
he  did  not  understand  me  any  more  than 
I  did  him.  You  can't  tell  any  kind  of  a 
person,  especially  a  man,  that  his  life  is  a 
failure,  without  surprising  him.  I  wish  I 
had  never  told  him." 

She  paused  as  if  very  tired,  and  then 
continued,  — 

"I  had  a  little  camphor  trunk,  brass- 
nailed,  some  animal's  skin  on  the  top ;  it 
was  my  mother's.  In  it  were  her  treasures 
when  she  was  a  girl :  her  wedding  waist,  — 


256  MISS  CURTIS. 

she  had  a  small  waist, — some  dried  flowers, 
a  few  letters  and  some  missionary  relics, 
and  —  her  journal,  left  for  me,  which  I  was 
to  read  when  I  could  n't  bear  life  any  longer. 
I  had  always  known  it  was  waiting  for  me, 
but  I  had  put  off  reading  it,  hoping  that 
each  day  would  be  a  little  easier  for  me. 
I  did  n't  want  to  go  to  my  own  funeral.  I 
read  it  that  night.  Poor  little  mamma ! 
She  loved  my  father  when  she  married 
him,  and  she  thought  it  was  grand  to 
carry  the  burden  of  the  Lord,  and  that 
she  would  go  with  him  into  the  desert- 
places  and  make  them  bloom.  But  my 
father  never  showed  her  the  vision,  —  only 
the  pain,  the  duty.  She  was  weak  in  body ; 
and  when  I  was  born,  my  father  told  her 
to  bring  me  up  to  be  strong  and  respon 
sible.  That  weighed  upon  her.  He  did  n't 
believe  in  rocking  babies,  and  he  gave  her 
the  Psalms  to  read  when  I  was  crying  in 
the  dark  from  terror.  She  tried  to  grow 
up  to  him  and  not  mind  things,  and  have 


HOBBIES.  257 

great  thoughts ;  but  little  mamma  needed 
a  God  whom  she  could  see.  She  blamed 
herself  for  everything.  It  never  occurred 
to  her  that  father  was  wrong.  She  wanted 
me  to  ignore  myself  and  to  carry  the  bur 
den  for  others." 

Olive  thought  of  Mr.  Kirnen  and  moved 
uneasily.  Miss  Curtis  continued  in  the 
monotone  into  which  she  had  fallen. 

"  Then  I  saw  how  cruel  and  selfish  I  had 
been,  and  I  vowed  by  my  mother's  journal 
that  I  would  be  his  companion  and  outdo 
him  in  the  burden.  So  I  starved  and 
worked,  and  nursed  the  sick  and  drunken, 
and  improved  the  character  of  the  town,  and 
took  up  every  new  invention  of  reform,  — 
anything  that  meant  self-sacrifice.  As  I 
carried  on  the  Lord's  burden,  my  father 
laid  it  down  ;  it  was  killing  him,  as  it  had 
killed  my  mother.  He  saw  the  crucifixion, 
but  never  the  crown.  We  had  got  along 
better  in  these  latter  years ;  he  had  begun 
to  respect  me,  and  though  he  could  n't  love 

17 


258  MISS   CURTIS. 

me,  he  depended  on  me  and  helped  me  in 
turn.  I  was  not  twenty  when  there  came 
to  our  town  Henry  Norris.  I  met  him  first 
at  a  funeral."  Miss  Curtis  half  smiled. 
"  He  came  off  and  on  to  see  us  ;  I  got  used 
to  him,  and  —  I  loved  him/' 

"  Aunt  Curtis,"  exclaimed  Olive  in  high 
excitement,  "  you  don't  mean  mamma's 
brother ! " 

"  Yes.  I  've  snubbed  your  mother,  and 
badgered  your  father  about  his  salary,  and 
loved  you,  because  of  him ;  and  now  it  is 
all  over." 

"  Does  mamma  know  ?  " 

"  She  never  told  me  she  did  n't,  and  she 
never  gave  me  any  reason  to  think  she  did  ; 
your  mother  is  inscrutable.  It  comes  from 
having  a  parish  round  all  the  time.  But 
don't  set  me  to  wandering  to-night.  He 
saw  how  I  was  driven  by  hobbies ;  that 
they  jostled  against  each  other ;  that  there 
was  n't  any  abidingness  in  me,  only  to  be 
doing ;  that  I  was  in  a  perpetual  worry  ; 


HOBBIES.  259 

that  with  all  my  efforts  I  always  came  out 
wrong  and  made  things  worse  than  before, 
because  I  wanted  to  reform  the  whole  of 
people's  lives  at  once,  and  was  not  contented 
to  work  in  bits  and  by  degrees.  Well,  I 
was  obstinate ;  and  when  he  asked  me 
to  marry  him,  I  told  him  that  he  must 
promise  to  take  up  the  work  of  the  Lord 
in  my  way  and  ride  my  hobbies ;  and  he 
wouldn't  promise  and  I  wouldn't  yield. 
We  'd  go  off  skipping  stones,  and  he  'd  talk 
of  the  '  faith  that  made  faithful.'  But  I 
could  never  see  large.  Because  he  would 
not  weigh  out  the  mint  and  the  anise,  I  let 
him  go.  It  is  a  long  while  ago,  child,  and 
I  have  been  weighing  out  mint  and  worm 
wood  ever  since.  It  has  tasted  bitter,  but  1 
could  not  give  up  hobbies." 

A  look  of  grim  amusement  passed  over 
her  face  as  Olive  smiled  reluctantly. 

"  Give  me  a  shawl,  child.  It  is  very 
cold." 

Olive  wound  the  soft  camel's-hair  around 


260  MISS  CURTIS. 

her  aunt  and  stroked  her  hair.  After  a 
while  she  asked,  — 

"  Did  you  never  see  him  again  ?  " 

"  Don't  hurry  me,  Olive.  Father  died  in 
a  year  or  two,  and  left  me  his  money  and 
his  example.  I  guess  he  did  n't  know  he 
had  so  much  of  either  to  leave.  I  have  told 
you  about  his  will  before.  I  suppose  he 
wanted  other  women  to  marry,  as  his  atone 
ment  to  mother.  After  all  was  decently 
over,  and  I  was  carrying  out  his  example, 
Mr.  Norris  asked  me  again  to  marry  him ; 
but  I  had  grown  hobbier  than  ever  after 
father's  death,  and  I  could  n't  forget  what 
I  had  said  to  him  when  I  stood  up  by  the 
Goliath.  I  must  pay  for  it.  I  had  not 
grown  old  enough  to  see  that  there  was  a 
better  payment  than  by  renouncing.  Never 
go  into  self-sacrifice,  Olive,  until  you  are 
sure  it  is  necessary.  I  went  by  jerks." 

"  How  could  you  do  so  ?  "  asked  Olive. 

"  Because  I  did  not  know  it  was  right  to 
be  happy." 


HOBBIES.  261 

"  And  uncle's  letter  ?  "  ventured  Olive. 

"  Henry's  letter?"  said  Miss  Curtis,  wea 
rily.  "  Oh,  it  is  in  this  bag ;  it  has  always 
been  in  it  since  he  sent  it  to  me,  twenty-six 
years  ago,  just  before  he  died.  You  re 
member  what  I  told  you,  child.  Ring  the 
bell  for  the  lights,  and  leave  me.  It  has 
grown  very  dark." 

The  candles  came,  and  Olive  left  her 
alone. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

PURPOSE. 

Miss  CURTIS  died  that  night.  When  they 
went  to  wake  her  in  the  morning,  they 
found  the  yellow  letter  under  the  with 
ered  cheek.  Reverently  Olive  fulfilled  her 
promise.  If  the  first  death  we  know  is 
wrapped  in  tenderness,  then  it  is  loneliness, 
not  bitterness,  against  which  we  struggle. 

Olive  was  very  lonely ;  but  out  of  her 
loneliness  purpose  was  deepening.  She 
saw  that  Miss  Curtis  had  missed  the  be 
neficence  of  happiness,  because  she  had 
counted  an  unwilling  martyrdom  as  ser 
vice,  and  had  always  been  in  rebellion 
against  the  forces  of  her  life,  —  alike  those 
which  she  had  inherited  and  those  which 
she  had  created. 


PURPOSE.  263 

Miss  Curtis's  will  was  a  surprise  to  all. 
The  bulk  of  her  property  was  left  to  Olive 
on  condition  that  she  should  carry  out  the 
plans  which  Miss  Curtis  ha4  already  de 
vised,  and  which  were  in  progress  for  the 
benefit  of  her  clients  and  townspeople. 
It  was  not  to  pass  into  her  entire  control 
for  two  years,  that  she  might  have  time  to 
prepare  herself  for  her  future  work,  though 
even  then  she  would  not  be  at  liberty  to 
touch  the  principal  until  she  was  thirty-five. 
If  Olive  quailed  before  the  task,  the  trustees 
were  to  expend  the  principal  in  establishing 
a  home  for  single  women.  A  certain  por 
tion  of  the  income  was  to  be  yearly  appro 
priated  to  the  increase  of  her  father's  salary, 
that  he  might  have  more  time  for  sermons 
and  less  for  economies. 

The  consternation  of  Olive  was  only 
equalled  by  the  amazement  of  her  brother. 

"  Now  a  fellow  can  live  decently,"  ex 
claimed  Owen,  "  and  can  spread  at  Beck  Hall 
when  he  graduates.  Olive  will  become  a 


264  MISS  CURTIS. 

universal  match-maker.     What   a   descent 
from  single  motives  ! " 

"Oh,  "sighed  she,  "  if  I  could  have  a 
universal  woe,  an  ache,  and  so  bear  others' 
burdens ! " 

"  Don't  be  vicarious !  "  said  the  boy.  "  I 
hope  the  papers  won't  get  hold  of  it.  The 
house  will  be  a  regular  Gretna  Green,  chap 
lain  provided,  job  done  at  the  lowest  price. 
All  the  girls  will  want  you  to  give  them  a 
dowry,  as  did  Miss  Curtis." 

"  Don't,  Owen !  It  is  an  awful  responsi 
bility,"  besought  his  sister. 

"  Now,  Olive,  just  stop  a  minute,"  he 
replied.  "I  know  something  of  girls.  I 
can  'size'  them  pretty  well.  I  've  been 
1  sizing '  you  lately.  You  are  a  '  daisy,'  but 
you  have  made  me  miserable  by  looking 
at  me  in  a  responsible  light ;  and  you  have 
not  made  as  much  out  of  yourself  for 
others  as  you  might  have  done,  —  that 's 
your  hobby,  you  know,  —  because  you  have 
been  taking  yourself  responsibly.  Why, 


PURPOSE.  265 

we  fellows  never  could  get  through  col 
lege  if  we  put  ourselves  under  serious 
consideration." 

"  Oh,  Owen,  I  wish  you  would ! "  inter 
rupted  the  girl,  pathetically. 

"  Olive,  let  ine  alone,  and  don't  spoil  my 
sequences.  I  've  forgotten  where  I  was. 
But  this  is  what  I  mean.  Miss  Curtis 
has  been  a  trump.  It 's  going  to  help  fa 
ther  lots.  I  tell  you,  Olive,  I  've  given  up 
no  end  of  good  times,  and  subscribing  to 
college  things,  because  of  those  accounts  of 
his,  which  have  to  be  squared  before  he  can 
get  at  his  sermon.  Now,  I  'm  out  again  ! 
Oh,  I  know  what  I  was  going  to  say ! 
Don't  take  this  will-business  hard;  don't 
look  at  it  as  a  responsibility.  Of  course 
it 's  an  awful  one,  —  trust  funds,  and  all 
that ;  but  it 's  a  first-class  privilege  to  have 
money,  and  to  help  fellows.  Don't  bother 
as  to  whether  you  are  worthy  of  it  or  not. 
Have  a  good  time  about  it.  Be  jolly.  You 
help  people  a  great  deal  more  when  you 


266  3/755  CURTIS. 

are  not  solemn.  I  '11  stand  by  yon  and 
pull  you  through." 

Olive  looked  at  him  half  provoked,  half 
amused.  He  had  good  sense,  but  he  was 
so  patronizing.  She  did  not  dare  to  an 
swer  him,  for  whatever  she  should  say 
about  herself  might  be  untrue,  at  least 
partial,  as  she  did  not  yet  comprehend  her 
feelings.  After  a  second  she  said  in  hum 
ble  tone,  "  Thank  you,"  and  left  the  room 
before  her  brother  could  reply.  Owen 
whistled. 

Olive  stayed  much  by  herself  for  several 
days.  A  day  seems  like  a  week  to  a  young 
girl.  Her  mother,  just  because  she  was 
her  mother,  did  not  intrude  upon  the  work 
ings  of  her  child's  mind.  In  all  this  time 
Olive  hardly  thought,  much  less  reasoned ; 
she  simply  gave  herself  up  to  the  varying 
moods  which  poured  themselves  over  her 
physically  and  mentally.  She  never  was 
in  despair,  she  hardly  felt  adrift ;  only  she 
knew  not  where  to  land.  She  was  aware 


PURPOSE.  2G7 

that  her  childish  sense  of  responsibleness 
had  overcome  her  for  a  while ;  but  she  was 
sure  that  she  had  outgrown  the  notion 
that  there  was  any  more  work  for  her  to 
do  in  the  world  than  she  could  do. 

She  planted  pansies  on  the  fresh  mound ; 
she  lay  dreaming  in  the  sunshine ;  she 
climbed  the  cliff  from  which  she  had  seen 
Miss  Curtis  kneeling  among  her  people. 
Late  one  afternoon  she  pushed  off  her 
boat  from  the  river-bank  and  rowed  far  up 
into  the  sunset.  Her  oars  played  back  and 
forth  against  the  phosphorescent  beads  of 
water ;  the  clouds  lay  above  as  plumes  of 
gold,  as  layers  of  opal  against  a  pale  blue 
sky.  Great  sweeps  of  roseate  hue,  feathery 
specks  of  brilliancy,  were  transformed  into 
the  clearness  of  amber  light.  The  moods, 
the  doubt,  the  sense  of  responsibility,  which 
had  so  burdened  her,  passed  into  the  glow 
ing  clouds,  into  the  shadowy  earth,  into 
the  sparkling  water.  Olive,  freed  from  the 
unreal  burdens  which  Nature  had  taken 


268  MISS   CURTIS. 

unto  herself,  reached  the  shore  with  a  few 
vigorous  strokes  born  of  her  release  from 
fear.  She  pulled  in  her  boat  and  threw 
back  her  head  against  the  sky,  with  a  light 
in  her  eyes  that  made  human  expression 
more  than  sunset  glory. 

That  night  the  mother  and  daughter 
talked  together  like  two  friends. 

"  It  seems  odd  that  I  should  be  hesitat 
ing  about  accepting  a  trust  instead  of  an 
offer,"  said  Olive  with  a  half  smile,  as  if 
almost  ashamed  to  compare  the  two. 

"  To  accept  marriage,"  said  Jac-mamma, 
"  is  to  assume  a  so  much  greater  trust,  that 
I  am  thankful  this  one  of  work  has  come 
to  you  first." 

"I  can  do  this,"  answered  Olive,  thought 
fully.  "I  don't  know  what  I  want  in  re 
gard  to  the  other." 

"  Nor  whom  ?  "  asked  her  mother. 

"No,"  said  Olive,  in  such  a  sure  tone 
that  her  mother  was  assured.  "  I  suppose, 
now,"  the  girl  continued,  "that  Aunt  Curtis 


PURPOSE.  269 

must  have  been  purposely  educating  me  to 
help  others  in  practical  ways.  If  I  did 
laugh  a  little  to  myself  at  her  character 
book-keeping,  it  proved  her  insight  into 
people  and  her  executive  ability  in  man 
aging  them.  Did  you  and  father  talk  me 
over  with  her  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  that  was  the  reason  she  sent  for 
us.  "We  could  not  refuse  her,  and  the  two 
years  she  has  permitted  you  for  prepara 
tion  gives  you  time  to  make  mistakes  in 
plans  and  to  correct  them  in  action." 

"  Oh,  you  wise,  funny  mamma !  Well,  I 
know  one  thing  already.  I  am  going  to  ap 
ply  philosophy  to  my  study  of  my  people." 
Her  use  of  the  possessive  pronoun  showed 
that  she  had  already  unconsciously  adopted 
Miss  Curtis's  clients.  "  There  are  causes 
for  all  the  bothers ;  just  helping  individual 
cases  don't  help  the  next  generation  so 
much  as  finding  out  what  makes  the  misery 
of  the  present  time.  And  there  is  another 
thing  I'm  not  going  to  do.  I 'm  not  going 


270  MISS   CURTIS. 

to  tell  poor  people,  or  any  one  else,  that 
morality  is  its  own  justification ;  but  I  'm 
going  to  tell  them  there  is  a  heaven  as 
sure  as  there  is  a  sunset,  and  that  things 
will  be  made  all  right  there." 

Her  mother  smiled  at  the  girl's  enthu 
siasm,  adding  calmly,  "  It  is  the  force  of 
personality  that  makes  us  need  philosophy 
to  correct  our  intensity ;  it  is  the  truth  of 
personality  which  makes  us  demand  God 
and  his  heaven ;  and  it  is  the  personality 
of  God  which  gives  us  prayer." 

"  One  of  Jac-mamma's  life-sermons," 
said  Olive,  touching  her  mother's  hands. 

Just  then  the  door  opened  with  that 
breezy  effect  which  precedes  the  appearance 
of  a  boy,  and  Owen  entered. 

"  Monologue  or  dialogue,  which  is  it  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Neither,  now,"  answered  Olive,  trying 
at  once  to  hide  her  deeper  feeling  from  his 
healthy  want  of  sentiment;  yet  knowing 
that  she  could  not  wholly  succeed,  she  sud- 


PURPOSE.  271 

denly  thought  it  best  to  admit  him  to  a 
limited  partnership  in  her  emotion.  In  a 
half-saucy,  half-timid  manner,  she  asked : 

"  Do  you  remember  our  first  call,  hand  in 
hand,  and  how  we  congratulated  ourselves 
upon  getting  through  our  part  ?  " 

"  It  was  all  gammon,"  declared  Owen. 

"  No,  it  was  n't,"  asserted  Olive.  "  We 
thought  out  beforehand  what  we  ought  to 
do,  and  so  we  got  through  with  it." 

"  Don't  moralize,  Olive ;  leave  that  to 
Jac-mamma.  She  must  settle  for  us  the 
proportions  of  life,  between  purpose  and 
hobbies,  conventions  and  freedom." 


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No.    1.    The  Story  of  Margaret  Kent.    By  HENRY  HAYES. 

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THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OP  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.  Revised, 
corrected,  and  edited,  with  notes  and  commentaries,  by  WILLIAM  J. 
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ALL  ixisTHfG  EDITIONS  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  poetry  or  single  poems,  ex 
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worthy  throughout  by  gross  and  numerous  errors  and  misprints.  Mr. 
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and  of  Shakespeare,  has  undertaken  the  herculean  task  of  editing  and 
restoring  the  correct  and  original  text,  and  of  producing  in  one  volume 
the  first  and  only  correct  edition  in  England  or  America  of  Scott's 
Poems.  The  edition  will  contain  full  notes  and  appendices  with  preface  and 
comments  by  Mr.  Rolfe.  It  also  contains  all  the  original  illustrations  made 
for  the  separate  poems  at  a  cost  of  upwards  of  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars,  besides  many  others  especially  added  for  this  work,  nearly  three 
hundred  and  fifty  in  all.  The  popularity  of  Scott's  poetry,  the  unique 
position  of  this  edition  for  scholarship  and  accuracy,  and"  the  number, 
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Two  Beautiful  and  Popular  Books. 

MY     OLD     KENTUCKY     HOME.         THE     SWANEE     RIVER. 

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No  one  like  Stephen  Foster  has  ever  had  the  power  to  reach  and  touch 
every  heart.  He  united  to  simple  words,  usually  in  dialect,  music  of  a 
peculiar  pathos  and  tenderness  that  appealed  to  all  men, which  has  won  for 
him  a  unique  and  special  place  not  granted  to  the  work  of  other  composers. 
Millions  of  these,  his  best  songs,  have  been  circulated ;  but  never  before 
has  the  artist's  pencil  been  enlisted  to  adorn  the  ballads  that  have  pleased 
and  softened  so  many  hearts.  The  drawings  have  been  made  and  engraved 
by  the  best  artists  with  the  utmost  care,  and  will  be  found  apt  and 
worthy  illustrations  of  these  tender  and  beautiful  songs. 


Ticknor  and  Company.  25 

THE    STORY    OF    AN     ENTHUSIAST.    Told    by    Himself.    A 

Novel,  by  MRS.    C.  V.    JAMISON,  author   of    "Woven  of  Many 
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A  new  novel  by  the  distinguished  author  of  "  Woven  of  Many  Threads  " 
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welcomed.  "The  Story  of  an  Enthusiast"  is  a  finely  written  and  harmo 
nious  work,  and  is  replete  with  interest. 

THE  NEW  ASTRONOMY.  By  S.  P.  LANGLEY.  1vol.  8vo.  Illus 
trated,  $6.00. 

A  most  fascinating  as  well  as  instructive  volume,  giving  the  latest  discov 
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THE  PILGRIM  REPUBLIC.  A  Historical  Review  of  the  Colony  of 
New  Plymouth,  with  sketches  of  the  rise  of  other  New  England 
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period.  By  JOHN  A.  GOODWIN.  1  vol.  8vo.  Maps  and  plans,  $4.00. 

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A  MAN  STORY.  A  new  novel  by  E.  W.  HOWE,  author  of  "The 
Story  of  a  Country  Town,"  "A  Moonlight  Boy,"  etc.,  $1.50. 

A  HISTORY  OF  THE  SECESSION  WAR.  By  ROSSITEB  JOHN 
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A  compact  and  careful  account  of  the  war  and  the  causes  that  led  to  it. 
The  principal  portion  of  this  work  was  published  serially  and  received  with 
the  greatest  approval.  It  has  now  been  revised  and  enlarged,  and  forms  a 
complete  and  compact  as  well  as  accurate  and  entertaining  history  of  the 
Rebellion. 

MUSIC  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  Collected  and  edited 
by  HENRY  M.  BROOKS,  editor  of  the  "  Olden-Time  Series,"  with  an 
introduction  by  EDWARD  S.  MORSE.  1  vol.  12mo.  Illustrated 
81.00. 

The  editor  of  the  popular  "  Olden-Tune  Series"  has  here  collected  in  a 
larger  volume  many  rare  and  curious  anecdotes,  ana,  etc.,  about  music  and 
musicians,  of  interest  to  all,  and  especially  to  music  lovers. 

LOVE  AND  THEOLOGY.  A  Novel,  by  CELIA  PABKEB  WOOLLEY. 
1  voL  12mo,  $1.50. 

A  novel  and  brilliant  story  by  a  new  and  talented  writer.  It  is  not  only 
entertaining  as  a  story,  but  engrosses  interest  from  the  highest  ethical  stand 
point.  ...  It  is  most  decidedly  a  book  to  awn,  and  not  merely  to  read 
for  amusement  only  and  then  throw  aside." 

THE  BHACAVAD-CITA;  OR,  THE  LORD'S  LAY.  With  Com 
mentary  and  notes,  as  well  as  references  to  the  Christian  Scriptures, 
Translated  from  the  Sanskrit  for  the  benefit  of  those  in  search  of 
spiritual  light,  by  MOHINI  M.  CHATTERJI,  M.  A.  1  vol.  8vo.  Gilt 
top,  $2.00. 


26  A  List  of  Books  Published  ly 

NEW    AND    CHEAPER    EDITIONS 

OF 

POPULAR,  STANDARD,  AND  ILLUSTRATED  BOOKS. 

POETS  AND  ETCHERS.  A  volume  of  full-page  etchings,  by  JAMES 
D.  SMILLIE,  SAMUEL  COLMAN,  A.  F.  BELLOWS,  H.  FABREK,  and 
R.  SWAIN  GIFFORD,  Illustrating  poems  by  Longfellow,  Whittier, 
Bryant,  Aldrich,  etc.  4to.  A  new  edition  in  new  binding.  Full  gilt, 
$5.00. 


THE  TICKNOR  SERIES  OF  OCTAVO  POETS. 

LIBRARY  EDITION. 
"LUCILE,"    by   OWEN    MEREDITH. 

"THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE,"  by  SIR  WALTER   SCOTT. 
"THE    LAY   OF   THE    LAST    MINSTREL,"    by   SIR  WALTER 

SCOTT. 

"MARMION,"    by    SIR    WALTER    SCOTT. 
"THE    PRINCESS,"    by   ALFRED    LORD   TENNYSON. 
"CHILDE   HAROLD,"    by   LORD    BYRON. 

Six  volumes,  elegantly  and  uniformly  bound,  with  all  the  original 
•illustrations,  bevelled  boards  and  full  gilt  in  cloth.  Each,  $3.50;  in 
tree-calf  or  flexible  calf,  extra,  $7.60. 

These  are  the  most  famous  and  popular  editions  in  existence  of  these 
great  poems.  In  their  original  shape,  they  have  had  enormous  sales,  and  in 
their  cheaper  form,  with  all  their  original  illustrations,  complete  and 
unworn,  they  will  have  renewed  popularity. 

Also  uniform  with  the  above,  in  style  and  price,  the  beautifully  illustrated 
TUSCAN    CITIES.    By  W.  D.  HOWELLS. 
RED-LETTER  DAYS  ABROAD.    By  JOHN  L.  STODDAKD. 


SONNETS  FROM  THE  PORTUGUESE.  By  ELIZABETH  BAR 
RETT  BROWNING.  Illustrated  by  Ludvig  Sandoe  Ipsen.  1  vol. 
Oblong  quarto,  beautifully  bound,  full  gilt,  $8.00. 

This  magnificent  work  was  a  labor  of  love  for  years  with  the  artist,  who 

has  made  a  series  of  designs,  the  equals  of  which  as  a  mere  treasury  of 

decoration  and  invention,  apart  from  their  significance  in  illustrating  the 

immortal  verse  of  Mrs.  Browning,  have  never  been  issued  in  America. 

THE    CORRESPONDENCE     OF    THOMAS     CARLYLE     AND 

RALPH    WALDO    EMERSON. 
NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE  AND   HIS  WIFE. 

New  and  cheaper  editions,  each  in  two  volumes.     12mo.     With 
portraits  and  other  illustrations.    Per  set,  $3.00. 

JAPANESE  HOMES.    By  PROF.  EDWARD  S.  MORSE. 

CHOSON  :     THE     LAND    OF    THE     MORNING     CALM.      B 

PERCIVAL  LOWELL. 
Each  In  1  vol.    Large  8vo.    Illustrated.    Per  vol.,  $3.00. 


Ticknor  and   Company.  27 


FOOLS    OF    NATURE.    A  Novel.    1  voL    12mo.  S1.50. 

A  strong  and  original  work.  It  Is  anti-spiritualistic  in  fact,  while  yet 
showing  how  some  trusting  natures  honestly  follow  such  beliefs.  There  are 
many  finely  drawn  scenes  and  figures  in  the  book,  a  great  deal  of  careful 
analysis  of  character  and  motive,  much  both  of  pathos  and  passion,  the 
whole  life-like  and  well  drawn. 

A  SEA  CHANCE;  OR,  LOVE'S  STOWAWAY.  A  comic  opera. 
By  WILLIAM  D.  HOWELLS.  1  vol.  16mo.  Little-Classic  size,  $1.00. 

SOBRIQUETS  AND  NICKNAMES.    By  ALBERT  R.  FRET.    1vol. 

Crown  8vo,  half  morocco,  gilt  top,  library  style,  $3.60. 

Some  years  ago,  the  author,  while  engaged  upon  a  dictionary  of  Pseudo 
nyms  (since  incorporated  in  Mr.  Cushing's  work),  found  so  many  nicknames, 
etc.,  that  he  began  to  collect  them.  The  result  is  the  present  volume,  con 
taining  over  five  thousand  subjtcts,  and  is  invaluable  to  all  libraries, 
editors,  students,  and  to  all  who  find  such  books  as  Wheeler's,  Brewer's, 
or  Cushing's  useful  in  their  reading,  study,  or  work. 

A  FLOCK  OF  GIRLS.  A  book  for  girls.  By  NORA  PEERY,  author  of 
"  After  the  Ball,"  etc.  1  vol.  12mo,  $1.60. 

Miss  Perry  is  one  of  the  most  popular  writers  for  girls,  and  her  stories 
for  them  are  eagerly  sought  by  all  the  best  editors.  This  volume  contains 
her  best  and  latest  stories,  and  is  sure  of  a  warm  reception. 

JUAN  AND  JUANITA.  By  FRANCES  CODRTENAY  BAYLOR,  author 
of  "  On  Both  Sides,"  etc.  1  vol.  Square  4to.  With  many  illustra 
tions,  by  HENRY  SANDHAM,  $1.50. 

Miss  Baylor's  charming  and  "  ower  true "  tale  has  formed  the  chief 
attraction  of  the  "St.  Nicholas"  for  a  year,  and  in  complete  form,  and 
with  considerable  additions,  will  be  heartily  welcomed,  most  of  all  by  those 
who  have  already  learned  to  love  its  little  hero  and  heroine,  and  eagerly 
look  for  the  full  story  of  their  adventures. 

UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM.  Poems  by  MRS.  FRANCES  L.  MACE, 
author  of  "Legends,  Lyrics  and  Sonnets,"  "Isratil,"  "Only 
Waiting,"  etc.  1  vol.  12mo,  $1.75. 

"  Only  Waiting  "  was  written  by  Mrs.  Mace  at  the  age  of  about  sixteen, 
and  attracted  wide  attention.  Her  more  recent  poems  have  been  published 
in  the  leading  magazines,  and  are  acknowledged  to  be  among  the  finest  gems 
of  American  poetry.  The  beauty  of  her  verse  is  unquestioned,  and  it  i» 
safe  to  predict  that  "  Under  Pine  and  Palm  "  will  be  widely  read. 

NEW  WACCINCS  OF  OLD  TALES.  By  Two  Wags.  1  voL  Illus 
trated. 

A  volume  of  burlesque  novelettes,  etc.,  by  a  combination  of  wits,  sure 
to  be  found  amusing  and  popular. 

ACATHA  PACE.  A  new  novel  by  ISAAC  HENDERSON,  author  of 
"  The  Prelate."  1  vol.  12mo,  $1 50. 

A  new  story  by  the  author  of  "  The  Prelate  "  is  sure  to  be  promptly  and 
permanently  popular. 

A  NEW  VOLUME  OF  ESSAYS.  From  the  papers  of  EDWIN  PERCY 
WHIFFLE,  author  of  "  Recollections  of  Eminent  Men,"  "American 
Literature,"  etc.  1  vol.  12mo.  Gilt  top,  $1.50. 

STEADFAST.  A  Novel,  by  ROSE  TERRY  COOKE,  author  of  "Some 
body's  Neighbors,"  etc.  12mo,  $1.60. 


28  A  List  of  Books  Published  by 


STORIES  AND  SKETCHES.  By  JOHN  BOYLE  O'REILLY,  editor 
of  the  Pilot,  author  of  "  Moondyne,"  "  Songs,  Legends,  Ballads," 
etc.  1  vol.  12mo,  $1.50. 

The  great  popularity  of  the  author,  and  the  intrinsic  merit  and  interest 
of  his  writings,  will  insure  a  warm  reception  to  this  collection  of  his  latest 
and  best  works. 

A  NOVEL.  By  ED-WARD  BELLAMY,  author  of  "  Miss  Ludington's  Sis 
ter."  1  vol.  12mo,  $1.50. 

A  NOVEL,.  By  Miss  L.  G.  NOBLE,  author  of  "A  Reverend  Idol." 
1  vol.  12mo,  $1.50. 

SAFE   BUILDING.    By  Louis  DE  COPPET  BERG.    1vol.    Square  8vo, 


These  papers  are  the  work  of  a  practising  architect,  and  not  that  of  a 
mere  book-maker  or  theorist.  Mr.  Berg,  aiming  to  make  his  work  of 
the  greatest  value  to  the  largest  number,  has  confined  himself  in  his 
mathematical  demonstrations  to  the  use  of  arithmetic,  algebra,  and  plane 
geometry.  In  short,  these  papers  are  in  the  highest  sense  practical  and 
valuable. 

A    NEW   AND    ENLARGED   CONCORDANCE   TO  THE    HOLY 
SCRIPTURES.     By  REV.  J.  B.  R.  WALKER. 

This  monumental  work  of  patient  industry  and  iron  diligence  is  in 
dispensable  to  all  students  of  the  Bible,  to  which  it  is  the  key  and  intro 
duction.  Many  errors  and  omissions  in  the  plans  of  the  older  Concordances 
have  been  avoided  in  this  one ;  which  also  bears  reference  to  the  Revised 
Bible,  as  well  as  to  the  King  James  version. 

THE  OLDEN-TIME  SERIES.    Edited  by  HENRY  M.  BROOKS,  with 
many  illustrations  and  fac-similes.    Six  volumes  In  two,  $2.50. 

A  new,  compact  edition  of  these  popular  collections  of  anecdote  and 
incident. 


THE    LATEST    PUBLICATIONS. 

CULTURE'S  GARLAND:  Being  Memoranda  of  the  Gradual  Rise  of 
Literature,  Art,  Music,  and  Society  in  Chicago  and  other  Western 
Ganglia.  By  EUGENE  FIELD.  Paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.00. 

PENELOPE'S  SUITORS.  By  EDWIN  LASSETTER  BYNNER.  1  vol. 
32mo.  Quaintly  bound  in  antique  paper  boards,  with  strings.  50  cts. 
This  captivating  story  of  the  old  Colony  days  in  Massachusetts  was  origi 
nally  published  serially,  when  it  aroused  wide  attention  and  great  admira 
tion.  In  deference  to  a  public  demand,  it  is  now  brought  out  in  a  quaint 
and  dainty  little  volume,  making  one  of  the  prettiest  and  most  bijou-like 
books  of  the  year.  The  Boston  "  Daily  Advertiser  "  pronounces  it :  "A 
subtly-clever,  original,  and  remarkably  well-told  story.  The  way  in  which 
the  Governor  steals  the  heart  of  '  the  young  gentlewoman,'  just  at  a  time 
when  she  is  about  to  become  engaged  to  a  young  friend  of  his,  is  sketched 
•with  exquisite  grace  and  charm." 


Ticknor  and  Company.  29 

PROSE  PASTORALS.  By  HERBERT  M.  SYLVESTER.  1  vol  12mo. 
Gilt  top.  81.50. 

A  series  of  very  charming  chapters  on  Nature  and  the  manifold  attrac 
tions  of  rural  life,  and  rambling  in  the  forests  and  meadows.  No  better 
companion  can  be  found  for  a  summer  day  in  the  country.  It  is  an  entirely 
new  work,  the  result  and  crystallization  of  years  of  communion  with 
Nature. 

HOME  SANITATION.  A  Manual  for  Housekeepers.  By  the  Sanitary 
Science  Club  of  the  Association  of  Collegiate  Alumnse.  Cloth.  60 
cents. 

The  object  of  this  manual  is  to  arouse  the  interest  of  housekeepers  in  the 
sanitary  conditions  of  their  homes,  and  to  indicate  the  points  requiring 
investigation,  the  methods  of  examination,  and  the  practical  remedies. 
The  subjects  treated  are  the  situation  of  the  house,  care  of  the  cellar, 
plumbing  and  drainage,  ventilation,  heating,  lighting,  furnishing,  clothing, 
food  and  drink.  Each  topic  is  introduced  by  an  explanatory  statement, 
which  is  followed  by  a  series  of  questions  so  framed  that  an  affirmative 
answer  implies  a  satisfactory  arrangement ;  and  they  also  suggest  a  remedy 
if  the  answer  is  negative. 

FINAL  MEMORIALS  OF  HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONG 
FELLOW.  By  SAMUEL  LONGFELLOW,  author  of  "Life  of  Henry 
Wadsworth  Longfellow,"  etc.  1  vol.  8vo.  Uniform  with  the  "  Life." 
"With  two  new  steel  plates,  and  other  illustrations.  Cloth,  $3.00 ;  half 
calf,  with  marbled  edges,  $5.50;  half  morocco,  with  gilt  top  and  rough 
edges,  $5.50. 

The  volume  contains  the  journals  and  letters  of  the  last  twelve  years  of 
the  poet's  life,  which  were  omitted  from  the  Biography  through  fear  of  mak 
ing  it  unduly  large,  their  places  being  there  supplied  by  a  summary  narra 
tive.  Many  letters  are  also  given  of  the  earlier  periods,  from  Mr  Longfellow 
and  his  correspondents,  such  as  Mr.  T.  (>.  Appleton,  Mr.  J.  L.  Motley,  Dean 
Stanley,  etc.  There  is  a  chapter  of  "  table  talk"  and  some  pieces  of  un 
published  verse ;  the  tributes  of  Prof.  C.  C.  Everett,  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes, 
and  Prof.  C.  E.  Norton  are  given,  and  extracts  from  the  reminiscences  of 
Mr.  William  Winter  and  others  An  Appendix  contains  genealogical  and 
bibliographical  matter.  The  work  contains  impressions  of  two  engraved 
portraits  and  a  vignette,  prepared  expressly  for  this  edition.  There  are 
also  full-page  wood-engravings  of  several "  Longfellow  ''  houses,  and  curious 
fac-similes  of  drawings  and  sketches,  and  pencil  portraits  of  Mr.  Longfellow 
hitherto  unknown. 

THE  DEVIL'S  HAT.    By  MELVILLE  PHILIPS.    1vol.    12mo.    $1.00. 

A  novel  of  intense  and  absorbing  interest,  whose  scenes  are  laid  in  the 
oil  regions  of  Pennsylvania, — a  sufficiently  novel  and  attractive  field  for 
romance.  As  a  vigorous  critic  has  written,  "  Much  of  the  real  worth  of  the 
book  lies  in  the  accurate  picture  of  life  in  the  oil  regions.  This  part  of  the 
work  is  very  finely  done.  The  various  incidents  of  such  a  life  are  all  real 
istically  written,  while  the  scenery  of  the  tale  is  sketched  with  an  artistic 
hand." 

LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  A  LIFE.  By  MADELEINE  VINTON 
DAIILGREN  (Mrs.  Admiral  Dahlgren),  author  of  "  A  Washington 
Winter,"  "South-Sea  Sketches,"  "South-Mountain  Magic,"  "Me 
moirs  of  Admiral  Dahlgren,"  etc.  1  vol.  12mo.  81.50. 

The  novel,  a  Southern  tale,  is  written  in  the  same  powerful  and  fascinat 
ing  manner  that  has  won  for  Mrs.  Dahlgren's  published  works  such  remark 
able  popularity  and  success,  and  is  pronounced  the  best  work  yet  written  by 
this  distinguished  lady.  The  picture  of  Southern  home  life,  the  unveiling 
of  the  secrets  of  a  heart,  the  coming  and  going  of  the  lights  and  shadows 
in  the  heroine's  life,  are  portrayed  in  Mrs.  Dahlgren's  most  perfect  manner, 
and  form  but  small  parts  of  one  of  the  most  successful  and  delightful  novels 
of  the  season. 


30  A  List  of  Books  Published  by 


THE  SUNNY  SIDE  OF  SHADOW  —  Reveries  of  a  Convalescent. 
By  Mrs.  S.  G.  W.  BENJAMIN.  1  vol.  16mo.  $1.00. 

LETTERS  OF  HORATIO  CREENOUCH  to  his  Brother,  Henry 
Greenough.  With  Biographical  Sketches,  and  some  Contemporary 
Correspondence.  Edited  by  FRANCES  BOOTT  GKEENODGH.  1  vol. 
12mo.  With  Portrait.  $1.25. 

"  Very  welcome  to  readers  of  literary  tastes  and  artistic  sympathies. 
They  give  one  a  portrait  of  a  sensitive  nature,  keenly  alive  to  whatever  was 
fine  and  true.  The  letters  throw  side-lights  on  the  growth  of  art  and  artis 
tic  tastes  in  America,  and  have  a  distinct  value  on  that  account.  There 
are  letters  from  Willis,  Dana,  the  Greenoughs,  et  als. ,  with  charming  pic 
tures  of  Boston  fifty  years  ago." 

NIGHTS  WITH  UNCLE  REMUS:  Myths  and  Legends  of  the  Old 
Plantation.  By  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS,  Author  of  "  Uncle  Re 
mus:  his  Songs  and  Sayings,"  "At  Teague  Poteet's,"  etc.  1  vol. 
16mo.  Illustrated.  Paper  covers.  60  cents. 

This  is  the  choicest  of  Harris's  inimitable  books  of  Southern  life,  legends, 
and  dialect,  which  have  met  with  such  extraordinarily  large  sales.  In  an 
swer  to  the  great  popular  demand,  this  new  edition  in  paper  covers  has  been 
brought  out. 

THE  NICRITIANS.  Division  One  of  the  Social  History  of  the  Races  of 
Mankind.  By  A.  FEATHERMAN.  1  vol.  8vo.  $6.00. 

TH  E  M  ELAN  ESI  ANS.  Division  Two  of  the  Social  History  of  the  Races 
of  Mankind.  By  A.  FEATHERMAN.  1  vol.  8vo.  $6.00. 

REFERENCE    BOOKS. 

FAMILIAR  SHORT  SAYINGS  OF  GREAT  MEN.  By  S.  ARTHUR 
BENT,  A.  M.  Fifth  edition.  12mo.  Vellum,  cloth.  $2.00. 

Indispensable  to  students,  writers,  and  libraries.  It  gives  a  collection  of 
shore,  sententious  sayings  of  all  times,  such  as  are  constantly  referred  to. 

THE  COURSE  OF  EMPIRE.  Being  Outlines  of  the  Chief  Political 
Changes  in  the  History  of  the  World.  Arranged  by  Centuries,  by 
C.  G.  WHEELER.  With  25  maps.  1  vol.  12rno.  $2.00. 

FAMILIAR  ALLUSIONS.  A  Handbook  of  Miscellaneous  Information, 
including  the  names  of  Celebrated  Statues,  Paintings,  Palaces, 
Country  Seats,  Ruins,  Churches,  Ships,  Streets,  Clubs,  Natural  Curi-, 
osities,  and  the  like.  By  WILLIAM  A.  WHEELER  and  CHARLES  G.' 
WHEELER.  1  vol.  12ino.  $2.00. 

EVENTS  AND  EPOCHS  IN  RELIGIOUS  HISTORY.  By  JAMES 
FREEMAN  CLARKE,  D.D.  Illustrated.  12mo.  $2.00. 

EDGE-TOOLS  OF  SPEECH.  By  MATURIN  M.  BALLOU.  $3.50.  An 
encyclopaedia  of  quotations,  the  brightest  sayings  of  the  wise  and 
famous.  Invaluable  for  debating  societies,  writers,  and  public 
speakers.  A  treasure  for  libraries. 

An  almost  inexhaustible  mine  of  the  choicest  thoughts  of  the  best  writers 
of  all  ages  and  countries,  from  Confucius  down  to  Garfield  and  Gladstone, — 
a  pot-pourri  of  all  the  spiciest  ingredients  of  literature.  There  is  a  vacancy 
on  every  student's  desk  and  in  every  library  which  it  alone  can  fill,  and 
soon  will  fill.  The  book  deserves  its  popularity.—  The  Northwestern. 


Ticknor  and  Company.  31 

THE 

MEMORIAL  HISTORY  OF  BOSTON, 

In  Four  Volumes.    Quarto. 

With  more  than  500  Illustrations  by  famous  artists  and  engravers,  all 
made  for  this  work. 

Edited  by  JUSTIN  WINSOR,  LIBRARIAN  OF  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY. 

Among  the  contributors  are  :  — 

GOT.  JOHN  D.  Loxa,  Dr.  0.  W.  HOLMES, 

Hon.  CHARLES  FRANCIS  ADAMS,  JOHN  0.  WHITTIER, 

Rev.  PHILLIPS  BROOKS,  D.D.,  Rev.  J.  F.  CLARKE,  D.D., 

Rev.  E.  E.  HALE,  D.D.,  Rev.  A.  P.  PEABODT,  D.D., 

Hon.  ROBERT  C.  WDCTHROP,  CoL  T.  VV.  HIGGBISON, 

Hon.  J.  HAMMOND  TEUMBULL,  Professor  ASA  GRAT, 

Admiral  Q.  H.  PREBLE,  Gen.  F.  W.  PALFRKT, 
HENRT  CABOT  LODGE. 


VOLUME  I.  treats  of  the  Geology,  Fauna,  and  Flora ;  the  Voyages  and  Maps  of 
the  Northmen,  Italians,  Captain  John  Smith,  and  the  Plymouth  Settlers  ; 
the  Massachusetts  Company,  Puritanism,  and  the  Aborigines ;  the  Lit 
erature,  Life,  and  Chief  Families  of  the  Colonial  Period. 

VOL.  II.  treats  of  the  Royal  Governors ;  French  and  Indian  Wars ;  Witches 
and  Pirates ;  The  Religion,  Literature,  Customs,  and  Chief  Families  of  the 
Provincial  Period. 

VOL.  III.  treats  of  the  Revolutionary  Period  and  the  Conflict  around  Boston ; 
and  the  Statesmen,  Sailors,  and  Soldiers,  the  Topography,  Literature,  and 
Life  of  Boston  during  that  time  ;  and  also  of  the  Last  Hundred  Years' 
History,  the  War  of  1812,  Abolitionism,  and  the  Press. 

VOL.  IV.  treats  of  the  Social  Life,  Topography,  and  Landmarks,  Industrie* 
Commerce,  Railroads,  and  Financial  History  of  this  Century  in  Boston ; 
•with  Monographic  Chapters  on  Boston's  Libraries,  Women,  Science,  Art, 
Music,  Philosophy,  Architecture,  Charities,  etc. 

%*  Sold  by  subscription  only.     Send  for  a  Prospectus  to  the 
Publishers, 

TICKNOR    AND     COMPANY,    Boston. 


32         A  List  of  Books  Published  by  Ticknor  fy  Co. 

THE    TICKNOR    EDITIONS    OF    STANDARD 
ENGLISH    POEMS. 

ILLUSTRATED   OCTAVO  EDITIONS. 

These  choicest  editions  of  the  great  modern  poems  were  drawn  and  en 
graved  under  the  care  of  A.  V.  S.  ANTHONY.  Each  in  one  vol.,  8vo, 
elegantly  bound,  with  full  gilt  edges,  in  a  neat  box.  Each  poem, 

In  cloth $6.00 

In  antique  morocco,  padded  calf,  or  tree-calf 10.00 

In  crushed  levant,  extra,  with  silk  linings 25.00 

Scott's  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 
Tennyson's  The  Princess.  Meredith's  Lucile. 

Scott's  The  Lady  of  the  Lake.  Scott's  Marmion. 

Byron's  Childe  Harold. 

LIBRARY  EDITIONS. 

Lucile.  Marmion. 

The  Lady  of  the  Lake.  Childe  Harold." 

The  Princess.  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

Each  in  one  volume,  8vo,  elegantly  and  uniformly  bound,  with  all  the  origi 
nal  illustrations,  bevelled  boards,  full  gilt  edges.    In  cloth  .    .    §3.50 
In  tree-calf,  or  flexible  calf,  extra 750 

TREMONT  EDITIONS. 
Lucile.  Marmion. 

The  Lady  of  the  Lake.  Childe  Harold. 

The  Princess.  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

Enoch  Arden,  and  Other  Poems. 
Each  in  one  volume,  16mo,  beautifully  illustrated.  With  red  lines,  bevelled 

boards,  and  gilt  edges.   In  cloth $2.50 

In  half-calf 4.00 

In  antique  morocco,  flexible  calf,  seal  or  tree-calf 5.00 

POCKET    EDITIONS. 
Lucile.  Marmion. 

The  Lady  of  the  Lake.  Childe  Harold. 

The  Princess.  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

Enoch  Arden,  and  Other  Poems. 
Each  in  one  volume,  Little-Classic  size.    Handsomely  and  appropriately 

bound,  with  many  tine  illustrations.    In  cloth §1.00 

In  half-calf 2.25 

In  antique  morocco,  flexible  calf,  or  seal 3.00 

In  tree-calf,  or  padded  calf 3.50 

THE  STUDENTS'  EDITIONS. 

The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.  Marmion. 

Young  People's  Tennyson.  The  Princess. 

Select  Poems  of  Tennyson.  Childe  Harold. 

Enoch  Arden,  and  Other  Poems.  The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

Each  in  one  volume.  12mo.  Edited,  with  introduction  and  copious  notes, 
by  W.  J.  KOLFE.  Beautifully  illustrated.  Red  edges.  Each 
volume  ...  $.75 


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